


A Thief Amidst MI6

by Hibanai



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Crossover, Friends With Benefits, Hint of BDSM, International Accidents Happen, M/M, Romance, Tony Stark Has A Heart
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-22
Updated: 2015-09-06
Packaged: 2017-12-15 18:41:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 44,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/852779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hibanai/pseuds/Hibanai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Q and Bond have met before; Q remembers, Bond doesn't. Bond thinks Q has a crush on him and acts accordingly, except Bond isn't the only one Q has met before. But that's the least of their problems; SHIELD has discovered the existence of a hacker with terrifying skill and wants him either on their side or dead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Create New Folder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone hacks into the Stark servers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It seems I own a monopoly on the Tony Stark/Q tag. It's lonely ;-;
> 
> In all seriousness though, this fic is a plea to the writers of ao3 to please make Tony/Q craziness happen. It doesn't even have to be romantic! >:
> 
> Because if nobody else ships them I will be the crazy person who ships Tony/Q when nobody else does and the pairing will be known for its use of run on sentences that don't make sense. And they deserve more than that.
> 
> Credit goes to TouchoftheWind for the amazing banner!

“Sir?”

“What is it Jarvis? I’m a bit busy here,” Tony replies, his words barely hindered by the wrench in his mouth. “No, bad Dummy! Stop that! I’m trying to fix you, you ungrateful lump of scrap metal.” He’s wrestling with Dummy, trying to get the bot to stop flailing around, and he’s tempted to use the Iron Man suit because it’d be easier, but using the suit to manhandle one of his bots? That’d just be plain wrong.

“Yes, well, someone is trying to hack into our systems.”

“What’s your point? Isn’t someone always? Anyways, the important blueprints and whatnot are not accessible unless you’re on the private server. Besides, I wrote the security programs, there’s no way the hacker will get past those. Even if he does, you can keep him out.” He replies, confused as to why Jarvis is bothering him with this when he’s mildly preoccupied trying to prevent Dummy from destroying his lab.

“Well, yes, but…Sir, you should see for yourself. I think you’ll find it worth your time. I can take care of Dummy.” Dummy freezes mid-swing, saving a prototype repulsor from being sent airborne. Tony slowly lowers the wrench he’d been protecting himself with and carefully eases backwards a few steps before bounding to his holographic console.

“Jarvis , why didn’t you do that earlier? Don’t answer that, I know why; because you’re a vicious bastard who enjoys seeing me struggle and fight for my life. I programmed you better than that. C’mon, show me what’s so important.”

“You know me so well sir.”

Tony forgets to reply as lines and lines of code spring up in front and around him. His eyes light up as they scan the rows of text. A small part of him thinks he should be worried about the fact that someone is disassembling and evading his programs and making his or her way into his files, albeit slowly and with great struggle if the occasional faltering coming from the other side is any indication, Jarvis suggests that he take action within the next six hours and thirty two minutes, the sooner the better because this could be part of some evil plot, and a lot of him should feel indignant that someone out there thinks s/he can beat Tony, but he stands there and does nothing but watch. Because this? This happens about…never. Except for when Fury tries, but Fury doesn’t count for anything.

“Sir, I could-“

“Get me a bowl of popcorn. And coffee. And possibly coffee flavored popcorn. Oh, and tell me you’re recording this. ” He vaguely hears a resigned sigh, but a tray with coffee and popcorn appears before him not even five minutes later nonetheless, courtesy of Butterfingers.

He takes a sip of coffee before propping his feet up on the desk. He snatches a glowing blue panel, places it in his lap, and starts tapping at it with one hand while eating with the other. Ten minutes later he’s grinning like a madman and another panel pops up: a video feed. “Aha! Gotcha, you overcautious bastard.” He’d had to bounce through hundreds of fake IPs and the hacker had tried to give him the slip, but he’d won. He could easily have had Jarvis do it, but there was no fun in that. Tony searches the video feed, trying to figure out who is the hacker in this particular café and…

“Wait, Jarvis, I did this right, right? Because I know I did this right.” He points at the figure on the screen.

“Yes, I believe so. That is the one currently messing with our systems. Is it really so hard to believe? After all you – “

“Yes, but I’m me Jarvis.”

“That is true sir. Also, he has figured out that you can see him?”

“What?” Tony glances at the screen, where the scrawny kid looks like he’s about to grab his computer and bolt. “Nononono. You don’t get to leave.”

\-------

“Do not leave.” Sleipnir stares at his screen in disbelief. What? He glances around the café checking to see if anyone is about to attack him.

 _Blip._ Sleipnir turns back to his screen at the noise. “I will not harm you in any way, I swear.” He turns to look at the café’s camera, allowing whoever is on the other side, presumably Stark or one of his techs, to see his disbelief.

 _Bop._ “If I wanted to harm you, you’d know. Seriously. You’re free to leave, really, but isn’t hacking into my systems more fun?” Sleipnir knows that whoever is on the side has to be toying with him, but the lack of human retaliation until three hours after he might’ve tripped an alert had made him wonder. “If it makes you feel better I’ll let you see my face. I mean you’ve probably seen it before, but still. Type yes or no.” A small chat window pops up on his screen, blank save for a small smiley face in the corner.

He almost falls out of his chair in surprise. He’s suspicious; after all, this person had taken advantage of Sleipnir being distracted by the camera to hack into his computer; the thought of the person hacking him so quickly is dizzying. Yet, he finds himself typing yes.

Instantly, an oil-smeared face pops onto his screen. Tony Stark. The camera on him zooms out and holy Jesus, the tech behind him floors Sleipnir. Holograms, floating code, 3-D models of things that even he can barely comprehend. He almost doesn’t notice the man wave at him.

“Why?” He asks.

“Because, you hacking into my systems isn’t only fun for you. It’s fun for me too. It gets boring when nobody challenges my intellect. They always just want to pummel my pretty face into the ground. Although, I’m a bit insulted that you’re trying to take me on with _that_. Seriously? That’s like, using Windows Vista bad.” The voice is more cheerful than Sleipnir thought it would be and he doesn’t respond. Nothing really ever prepared him for this. None of the outcomes he’d envisioned involved Tony Stark encouraging him to hack into StarkIndustries.

“So, why’d you do it?” Tony asks, after the pause has lasted more than a minute.

\-------

“Because you’re a hero.” The response isn’t what Tony had been expecting.

“And?”

“I don’t know.” The kid shrugs in the video, it disappears, and a minute later an alert pops up on a screen behind him, notifying him that someone was attempting to hijack his files. The kid had been able to bypass the first three layers of his protection, but had missed the virtual tripwire that Tony had created. It was identical to the tripwire that had alerted Jarvis earlier. It says nothing bad about the kid, there’s no way he could’ve encountered this before or even been prepared for this. Tony grins, puts down the popcorn, and tells Jarvis to not let bother him for the near foreseeable future. He has a mind to blow.

He takes a break after an hour, fixes Dummy, and in the twenty minutes it takes him to get Dummy online and as functional as Dummy would ever get, the kid has managed to pass the test Tony set for him, found a little tiny hole that allows him to access a file on Dummy’s mechanical structure. Five hours later the kid on the other side – Tony has video again – looks like he was about to drop from exhaustion, but very much like he didn’t want to stop their game. So Tony brings the walls down on him, stops him cold.

“Sorry, have to go. Hero business and all. Don’t try anything funny while I’m preoccupied saving the world you’re living in. Buy some food and something to drink, you look like you need it, my treat. The barista will know,” he sends. The kid looks at the camera; the boy must’ve finally realized how out of his league he was and that Tony was, indeed, still probably watching him. His bright hazel eyes, barely visible underneath his mass of hair and glasses, are filled with suspicion and more anger than gratitude. The kid, scrawny and scrappy looking, raises an eyebrow at the camera and Tony can’t help but laugh and appreciate the balls on this kid.

“Jarvis, find me everything you can on this kid.”

What Jarvis finds isn’t anything Tony hadn’t really already guessed. Dead parents, orphan, the system didn’t work if the school reports of brilliance, bruises, and problems with authority are any indication, and then nothing.

Despite the anger and pride, the kid isn’t stupid; in fact he’s quite vicious, or tenacious, one of the two, and Tony finds himself owing a quaint little internet café in London far more money than they have food in stock for. Tony looks up their menu prices and does some quick calculations. If anyone asks he’ll tell them he bought a hundred coffee machines to eviscerate.

Tony doesn’t begrudge the kid taking advantage of his generosity and money; it’s out of necessity and it’s probably the kid’s cheeky way of saying, “Thank you and don’t think I won’t bite the hand that feeds me. So you better be ready.” In fact, he admires the audacity of the kid who is apparently cursed with the name of a horse, but he doesn’t give the kid a free pass, doesn’t go up to him and offer him salvation, hand him a credit card, pin, and show him to the nearest ATM, and doesn’t drop into the kid’s life because this kid is brilliance, pride, and paranoid suspicion all rolled into one. He’s already ensured the kid would have food for the next three years, even if he lets the boy think it was his own brilliance.

Sure, he keeps tabs on the kid to make sure he doesn’t die, but he’s a hero, it’s what he does – make sure people don’t die that is, not stalking people, that’s more lowlife criminal stuff than hero stuff. And if he inadvertently teaches the kid how to hack into criminals' bank accounts a few years later via eccentric bits of codes in StarkIndustries’ firewall system when London is going through a record-making harsh winter and the kid looks pathetically cold and is still using a laptop that looks more like a desktop, he’s just doing the world a favor and hopefully buying himself more alone time in his workshop and no one has to be any the wiser.

And if Tony had once helped a fourteen year orphan in London escape from the MI6 agent he’d been idiotically bold enough to pickpocket? No one had to know about that either.

The folder named Orphan will only be seen by his eyes.


	2. Remember, If Not the Anniversary, Then at Least the Gift

It isn’t until five months after the Silva incident that Bond realizes Q acts differently around him than he does other people. His body language is more familiar, his smiles are more mischievous, as if they share a secret despite the fact they’re surrounded by MI6, and his words, well, those are less than the usual curt professional. Some might call him downright hostile, but Bond knows better than that.

Bond would be disappointed in himself for not realizing that his Quartermaster was interested in him sooner if not for the fact that he’d rarely seen the man interact with others. Well that, and the fact that after Bond had assessed that Q was loyal to the Queen and country and wouldn’t get him killed he hadn’t spared the boffin a single thought. Q was hardly a blip on his radar; Q was a voice in his ear, a vending machine for weaponry.

The epiphany happens during a rare joint-mission when he notices that the voice in his ear quieter than usual. When 006 fails to shoulder ram a door open on his first try there’s no snarky, “Throw out your back last night with that blonde? You must be getting old.” Instead, it’s a teasing, “Maybe you should try using the tech I give you, instead of losing it for once. The laser, Alec?” that he hears in his ears, direct from London. The lack of barbs directed towards Alec’s lack of sexual prowess that makes Bond realize that he sees a part of Q that nobody else does. A small, greedy part of James likes this revelation. 

He ignores it in favor of shooting the first man he sees when the door falls open and saving 006’s ass. 

He never stops to consider that maybe Q is more than satisfied with Alec’s sexual prowess or that Q had once made fun of Alec’s abilities and was promptly shown how wrong he was. (Q had never been happier about being wrong. Oh, so wrong.)

\--------

“They’re degrading the art of it! Everyone underestimates the artistry of hacking, if not its destruction. Everything is a hack these days, Moneypenny. They’re replaced the words ‘improve’ and ‘alter,’ with the word ‘hack,’ as if that makes whatever silly thing they’re doing more impressive. For there to be hacking there has to be opposition, you have to be weaving through defenses. What opposition does a stupid kitchen cabinet on Pinterest have? The kitchen doesn’t bloody bite back.”

“What brought this up, Q?” Moneypenny asks, filling up his mug with tea. She finds that caffeine usually balances him.

“…Bond. He thinks that hacking is as simple as pressing a button. He doesn’t understand any of this.” Q waves arm, gesturing to the vast amount of technology in Q branch. “Despite being an old, broken down agent who doesn’t always get the job done quickly and efficiently he demands that the rest of us work miracles.”

“You really hate Bond don’t you? It’s that, or you want to sleep with him. Or maybe both of those.” Q sputters and chokes on the hot tea he’s sipping. 

“Neither. I just don’t revere him as all of you seem to. Sure, you can brush his flaws off as him being human or ignore them in favor of his high mission success, but the truth is James Bond is not at all great. Not even as an agent.” At the end of his spiel Q notices that Moneypenny is no longer looking at him, but behind him.

“Is that so Q?” A rumbling voice – from less than half a foot behind and two feet above Q – asks. “I suppose that my gift won’t change your mind?” Bond mocks, and a laser pen drops into Q’s free hand. Moneypenny makes an excuse and leaves; Bond is in the space she vacated not a second after she’s out of Q branch.

“Bond…what is this?” Q asks, turning the object in his hands, confusion and suspicion written on his face.

“Don’t recognize your own weapons? Who is getting senile and fallible now?” Bond replies, leaning on Q’s desk. 

Q inspects the laser pen. It looks fine on the outside. He points it at his tea and twists the back of it. Sure enough, his tea starts bubbling. He quickly turns it off again. “Well yes, but it’s in perfect condition. Did something happen on the mission while you were dark?”

“Just following orders. Like a good, maybe even great, agent would.” There’s something about Bond’s smirk that throws Q off, warns him that something’s up.

“I see. Well, thank you. As you can see, I’m a bit busy so you should start taking your after-mission leave,” he quips, edging away from Bond who is, for some reason, startlingly close. He’s close enough that he can probably hear the rapid beating of Q’s heart. When Bond only leans closer and scrutinizes him he raises an eyebrow questioningly. “Yes, Bond?” 

“Nothing.”

“You should go see medical on your way out. That blow to your head might’ve concussed you from the looks of it.” Still, Bond doesn’t move. So Q, socially awkward as he is, ducks out from under Bond and fast walks out the room, mumbling about how it’s late and he has to go home and feed his cat.

Q doesn’t actually have a cat, but it’s not like he’s going to tell Bond that he has a partially-deaf ferret named Iron Man. He has no particular desire to explain to anyone exactly why his ferret is named Iron Man. There are no possible explanations that he’d ever want to share. So his white monstrosity of a pet is kept a secret and he never dispels everyone’s notion that he has a white cat named Cipher.

It is all Tony’s fault really. It’d happened right before he’d taken up his position as Quartermaster. Sleipnir had known it’d be the last time he’d communicate with Tony, the man who’d pretty much handed him the keys to the world. They’d kept in touch over the years, albeit sporadically. Well, sort of. They’d never really talked since the first time, but they’d traded bits and pieces of their brilliance using Stark’s servers. It’d been a one sided trade at first, but Sleipnir caught on quick and was soon giving as good as he got. Good enough to find a folder named Orphan. Only his respect for Jarvis and his creator prevented him from destroying it.

Tony had been the only constant in Sleipnir’s life for the past ten years. As long as nobody was waging war on America and Tony wasn’t busy trying to figure out how to get into the Star Spangled Man’s pants, Tony would be always there whenever Sleipnir tried to get into his systems. If Tony had noticed that Sleipnir contacted him on November 5th every year, he never said anything. But becoming Q meant he’d not only have to leave his past behind, but also delete any traces of it he could find, including Orphan.

So Sleipnir had made his way onto Tony’s holoscreens and created a small chat window and prompted, “Type yes or no.” Tony, of course, had remembered and an instant later they video chatting. Tony had asked why and Sleipnir had pretended to be offended by Orphan; Tony couldn’t know that he was going to become Q and disappear. He’d asked Tony if he had a thing for stalking young, street wandering boys. Then, more politely, requested that Tony delete it. Tony had shrugged, deflected, then commented that for all his surveillance he’d never seen Sleipnir touch alcohol and then proceeded to send him vast amounts of it. (It was the first time Tony had ever sent him anything tangible.) It’d taken a surprisingly large amount of alcohol for him to get drunk and they had both been smashed by midnight London-time. 

Sleipnir doesn’t remember much after that. He thinks he might have thanked him, but there’s a high chance that he cursed him as well. What he does know is that he woke up the next morning with a terrible headache and that that night a fluffy white ferret, bought from pets4homes.co.uk, arrived on his doorstep. Next to it was a note from Tony.

_I deleted Orphan. You can check if you want. In case you don’t remember, the deal was that I delete the folder if you get a companion. Because, you know, orphans are alone and if you have someone then you’re not really an orphan and thus the folder becomes obsolete. However, you were in no state to make an AI, apparently you’re not nearly as good as coding drunk as I am, so you said you’d get a ferret. I didn’t think you’d remember so I ordered her for you. I hope you weren't joking because if you were then I'm joking about having deleted the folder and you still end up with a ferret. Her name is Iron Man because Iron Man is a pretty good person, or ferret, to have by your side. I’ll make a white suit in her honor someday._

_P.S. She bites. I thought you'd appreciate that I went through the extra trouble of getting you one that bites._

He’d considered renaming the ferret, getting rid of it maybe, but a week later, on his first day as Q, his morning newspaper had a picture of a white Iron Man suit. So the name stayed, and so did the ferret. 

Q never did build an AI. He never wanted to. He already had Iron Man to remember Tony by and she was enough. Having an AI would make life more convenient, but once an AI is made, it becomes its own entity. Q would become dependent on it. Q doesn’t depend on anyone; that was something Sleipnir did. And Sleipnir is gone now. He has been for two years now. 

There are only a few traces of him now and they’re all physical. Iron Man, a bottle of cheap whiskey that is gathering dust in his pantry, an innocuous wallet that sits on his desk, and twenty euros worth of credit at a hole-in-the-wall café are the only things left from his past. Q feeds Iron Man then takes out the pen Bond had given him and sets it next to the wallet. 

Bond had somehow managed to give him an anniversary gift even though he’d forgotten the anniversary and if that wasn’t something so distinctly Bond, what was? Q can’t help but smile at the thought of their first meeting and Bond’s inability to see more than just what’s right in from of him. It would be so easy for Bond to connect the dots, if he just thought to. Q absently traces patterns into the wallet with an index finger as he thinks of its previous owner. “To ten years, Bond. It’s a pity I never gave you anything to remember me by. Maybe I should this time.” 

Q has no clue what kind of game Bond is playing at, but Q plays to win. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone is trying to make sense of the timeline, Q met Bond when he was fourteen and is currently twenty-four. He met Tony when he was twelve and became Q at twenty-two. 
> 
> If you notice any errors or have any suggestions, please tell me! :3


	3. Trust You With a Trigger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bond likes Q; he trusts Q to guide him in a mission and get him out alive. But he doesn't know anything about Q besides the fact he works a MI6 as a brilliant boffin who drinks too much tea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short, slow chapter. The next one'll be better, I promise!

Bond proceeds as he would if this were a mission: recklessly but with care. He assumes the Quartermaster will know if Bond tries to access his electronic files, but does so anyways. Only he finds nothing. Q does not exist, not even within the bowels of MI6’s mess of profiles.

“M, did you know that Q doesn’t officially exist? No name, no past: he’s a ghost. Want to tell me why?” Bond asks. His voice is decidedly neutral, yet it’s clear he isn’t pleased with the empty folder that he’s holding. It’s supposed to be about Q, but the only indication of that is the small, neat, “Q” written on the folder’s tab.

“My predecessor cleared him. Is there a problem Bond?” Mallory replies, not at all surprised to see an angry Double-O, particularly this one, at his desk.

“Do you know anything about him? He could be another Silva waiting to happen.”

“Only what the previous M left in her notes. All you need to know is that he’s loyal and above your clearance level.”

“What was in M’s notes?” Bond is a still-standing storm of fury, bottled up without anything to destroy. His face portrays nothing but boredom. The mention of M, _his M_ , makes him remember the night that everything went wrong and being withheld the words that she left make his fingers itch to smack the smirk off of _this M’s_ face.

“It’s no concern of yours 007. Unless you have reason to suspect Q is not who he seems to be?”

“Yes, the fact that everything about him is a bloody secret.”

There’s a knock on the door and Moneypenny nods to Bond before addressing M, “You have a meeting with the Americans, Sir.”

“Bond? You’re dismissed.” Bond raises an eyebrow, letting the man know he won’t let the matter lay without a fight, and leaves M’s office. He walks down the hall and sits at a bench around the corner. He waits for the echos of M’s steps to fade before he tails Moneypenny.

He catches up quickly and swings in front of her. “Moneypenny.”

“Bond. Why am I not surprised? I suppose you want information on Q then?”

“How’d you know?” Not that he’s surprised. The woman doesn’t miss much, money shots aside. Bond used to suspect it was on purpose, possibly her strange way of flirting with him. After all she had taken a razor to his face before. He’d been disillusioned of that notion when she resigned from the field. Now he just suspects Q lets her watch the security cameras in exchange for tea.

“You think I didn’t notice the way the two of you flirt? I’m just wondering what took you so long to start digging up info on him.” Bond grunts; Q had been flirting with him, he’d never reciprocated. Well, no more than he usually did. Even so, the confirmation of Q’s flirtation is welcome. Not that he’s ever doubted himself when it comes to matters such as this.

Moneypenny smiles coyly at him and he sighs internally. “What’ll it take?”

“Nope! You’re on your own this time Bond. I’d like to see some effort. Good luck Bond.” She turns and the click-clack of her heels resonates throughout the hall. As he’s getting up she turns around. “Oh, and Bond? Try not to get yourself killed.”

He interprets that as an invitation to break into M’s office and he’s good enough to not get caught. What he isn’t, is psychic. He checks M’s desk calendar and, good, the meeting is supposed to at least three hours. He spends the first two picking locks – apparently M hasn’t upgraded to digital or is wary of electronics because of the Silva incident – and dirtying his fingers with confidential secrets that he has no need for. That’s when he starts to wonder.

The bookshelf would be an obvious choice but Mallory isn’t the type, he’s more practical than anything. Perhaps…Bond lifts the calendar and finds it there, in all its air-thin manila folder glory. There’s no label but he knows it’s either Q’s or ridiculously sensitive information. M must have hid it there before his meeting, just in case Bond broke in. The edges of the folder are worn but when Bond opens it there is only one sheet of paper.

He puts it the folder back and slips out of M’s office, learning nothing that he hadn’t already known; orphans always make the best recruits.

\-------

The second day of his forced three-day vacation is spent at the firing range. Despite the occasional twitch in his shoulder and once-failed physical, every bullet hits the target. Thinking of Silva always helps. Thoughts of Silva inevitably turn into Skyfall and M, who he really knew so little about in the end. But this time, thinking of them brings Q to his mind.

Brilliant, haunted Q, with sparks in his eyes and a mysterious past that he left behind. Q, who he likens to M because he knows so little about these breakable, mercurial creatures that he serves and there is nothing and nobody else they could possibly compared to. They show him affection when it suits them; they make it and his love of England his leash, so that he’ll come back after they take a bite out of his hide, then they send him on his way to die with only pretty, vicious girls and guns and whispered words to keep him alive. (They used to be staticky words and sweet girls, but times have changed.)

 

He’s so lost in thought that he doesn’t even notice that he hasn’t shot a single bullet in the past ten minutes. It’s only when a familiar body wraps itself around his that he realizes he has been standing with his gun at the ready and trigger half-way squeezed.

“Forget how to work a gun, Bond?” Moneypenny’s voice is rich and teasing as she wraps her hand around his. “You do it like this.” She squeezes the trigger and Bond knows where the bullet is going to land before it even hits the target. He slowly slips away from her, gently prying his hand, and the gun, away from her.

Bond brings the target forward; there’s a cluster of holes in the heart, another in the head, and sure enough, there’s a single bullet hole in the left shoulder. He raises an eyebrow at her. “Really?”

She smiles sweetly, as if she isn’t one of the vicious ones. “Just wanted you to know I can still make the shot. I wouldn’t want you to think I’ve gotten soft doing desk work. “

“Warning me off of Q, are you?”

“His past is none of your business; he's not one of your missions. You don’t see him digging around in your past, do you? If I recall correctly, he went along with Skyfall, no questions asked.”

“His past doesn’t exist Moneypenny. We don’t know anything about him.”

“No. _You_ don’t know anything about him. _I_ know that he’s a good man. You’d know that too, if you had an actual conversation with the man. Now, M wants to see you. Something about his meeting with the Americans.”

“Is that so?” Bond grins.


	4. Green-eyed Boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony has changed during the two years without Q.

“O Captain! My Cap-“

“Am I interrupting something Stark?” Coulson asks, walking into the workshop, a pinched expression on his face. He momentarily eyes the blankets that cover them and Tony grins as he watches the man mentally facepalm himself

“Nope, nothing at all. We were just-“

“I really don’t want to know. SHIELD wants to send you to England for an undercover mission. Before you say anything, it has to be you.” Tony can practically see the pain that saying this causes Coulson. “You’re being sent there under friendly pretenses. They’re willing to help America out with its problem concerning Chinese hackers; most likely because they don’t want our weapons falling into the wrong hands.” Tony winces a little at this, but Steve pats him on the back so he feels a little better. “Normally the tech guys would just work it out online through secure channels, but both sides are paranoid and unwilling to trust the other to set up the secure channels. That’s why we’re officially sending you over. The real reason we're sending you over is that we believe there's a potential threat in England. ”

“Wait, why doesn't England just send the tech guys over?” Tony interrupts.

"Fear of flying."

"Why do I have to be undercover?"

“Just…read the folder.”

“What folder? You didn’t give me a folder.” Tony protests, only to be hit in the arm with a flying folder. “Ow! What was that for? Steve why didn’t you save me?”

Steve shrugs. “I know you don’t like to be handed things. It was the fastest way to get you the folder. Coulson was just being efficient.”

Tony glares at Steve, then Coulson. “Fine, I’ll read the folder. Can you leave now? We were just getting to the good part. Tell Jarvis to stop letting you in.”

“Consider me gone. Be ready in three days.”

“Hey Steve?” Tony is already deflating and leaning into Steve. He hasn’t opened the folder yet, but he doesn’t want to. He can already guess its contents; he feels sick. England.

“Hm? What’s wrong Tony?” Steve wraps an arm around Tony’s waist and pulls him closer. He doesn’t like the idea of Tony going on an undercover mission; SHIELD has no right to ask this of him.

“I don’t want to do the mission.” Tony can hear the blood pumping through Steve’s heart, hear it skip a beat.

“Why? You haven’t even opened the folder. Not that I want you to go, but-”

“I’m pretty sure I already know what’s in it,” Tony replies dryly. Then, more softly, “I don’t think I could do it, if it came down to it.”

“SHIELD is selfish like that. Are you going to refuse?” Steve knows it’s not really an option, as does Tony, but they like to pretend sometimes. They love saving lives, they really do; they’re good at it. But sometimes, they have to end them. Sure, they’re taking out the bad guys and saving the innocents, but a life is still a life. Sometimes, they’re not even bad; they're just dangerous, sweet, creatures that really mean no harm to anyone. Those are the worst.

Natasha and Clint are assassin; they’re professionally numb. Steve is a soldier and is trained to do it; he’s numb too. Thor is a warrior of Asgard. He fights, rejoices, mourns for his lost shield brothers, and thanks his more worthy opponents for the honorable fights. He gently whispers to them, after they’ve died by his hands, “You fought well. I will forever remember this. May you find peace, whatever your peace may be.” Thor is a god; he knows well that nothing ever truly dies.

Bruce has no choice; SHIELD will always find him. The Avengers all try to make sure the other guy doesn’t hurt anyone, even the bad guys. But during the rare times when they fail, Bruce disappears into his lab for days. Tony once glanced at a camera to make sure Bruce was okay. He saw the way Bruce looked at his hands, his expression a mix of horror and weary acceptance. Since then Tony has always turned the camera off.

Tony is different. Tony doesn’t have an other guy. When Tony takes a life, it’s all Tony. Tony isn’t an assassin, isn’t a soldier, and isn’t a god; he’s an engineer whose weapons are made to protect those he holds dear. His creations are meant to make lives better, not destroy them. The only things that most of them ever destroy are outdated tech and his competitors’ stock prices. Steve sees the way his hands shake for days, the way he consumes caffeine and spends days creating so he doesn’t have to sleep. But the worst part is the nightmares and the haunted look on his face that he wears for days afterwards. Those become less frequent over time, but never completely go away.

He was 25 when Afghanistan happened. He’s 38 now and will always walk with a slight limp in his right leg. Despite the suit, he's had bones broken and rebroken. He's almost died at least a dozen times. He's missing part of his lungs. Yet, he still suits up time after time because he loves people too much and there’s no one else who can do it the way he does. Steve, before he really knew Tony, had asked Tony why he didn’t just control the suit from afar. Tony had flippantly told him, “Because Cap, no kid wants to grow up to be a robot controlled by a coward engineer with a remote. Heck, they don't even want to be the coward engineer who sends beautiful creations to die. You see, lots of kids dream of being you when they grow up, but a lot of other kids: the small, imaginative ones who always get made fun of for being nerds, the ones who know they could never be like Captain America because they'll never be big or strong enough? They dream of making a suit, of flying, of being Iron Man. In fact, I think I might have more fans than you. There are a lot of kids like that.” The wistful look in Tony’s eyes had betrayed his joking tone and told Steve that he wasn't really joking. It was then, three years ago, that Steve realized Tony was not the man Steve had assumed he was.

And his self-sacrifice never ends. People will always ask, and Tony will always give. But someday they’ll take more than Tony has to give. Steve fears someday is closer than he thought it’d be.

“I have to go. Who knows what will happen if they send someone else. It has to be me. I’m scared that it might be him. I’m scared that it isn’t.” Steve doesn’t know everything, but Tony has told him a lot, like how he sometimes dreams of electric green eyes. In the good dreams, he’s happy, moved on to a life where he doesn’t need Tony. In the bad ones - the ones that cause Tony to scream in his sleep then cling to Steve after he wakes - he’s begging to be saved from the people who are holding him captive and forcing him to create weapons that could tear continents apart; there's shrapnel in his chest and he depends on a car battery to keep him alive.

Steve knows that the mission folder must make Tony think of the boy he only refers to as Orphan, must give him hope, and must make him miss the November 5th visits. He remembers Tony always being excited around that time, although Steve didn’t know why until two years ago. Two years ago, Tony had sat in his workshop for 48 hours, doing nothing save anxiously wait. When nothing came he hadn’t even gotten drunk. He had slowly dragged himself out of his workshop, defeated, and knocked on the door to Steve’s bedroom. Steve had let him in, and he’d half collapsed, half crawled into bed next to Steve, silent. Steve didn’t ask, but Tony told him about Orphan first thing in the morning, not even getting coffee first.

At first, Steve had been hurt that Tony had kept Orphan, kept the fact that he cares for someone else as much as he does Steve, even if not in the same way, a secret. Steve had stormed off then sparred with Thor, Natasha, then Clint, until he was too exhausted to stand. He had avoided Tony for a total of a week before Bruce approached him and verbally beat him to a pulp. He’d been pretty sure that the other guy had wanted to literally beat him to a pulp too. The other guy loved Tony.

…But not nearly as much as Steve did. The epiphany had floored him. Steve loved Tony Stark; more than anything, he loves Tony Stark. Upon that revelation Steve had pulled his head out of his ass, taken a look at Tony, and realized that Tony was even more miserable than Steve. He looked even more haggard and weary than he had the night he’d knocked on Steve’s door. Steve had quickly puzzled out that Tony hadn’t told him because he was afraid that Steve would leave. While Tony would never admit it, Tony is always terrified that the people he loves will leave him; Steve had known that. And Steve had left him, just like that.

All of a sudden the fact that Tony cared for some green-eyed boy ceased to matter because Tony _loved_ and needed Steve. That, and Steve realized the green-eyed boy had made Tony happy. When he had disappeared off the face of the earth, Tony had slowly become two separate people. His public persona had become far more forced; he’d no longer enjoyed those sorts of things. His private persona had become more honest, less abrasive, and clingier, not that Steve would ever tell him that. The change in Tony’s behavior is actually what had allowed the beginning of their relationship as Tony had stopped alternatively shoving Steve away then pulling him back.

So Steve had gone to Tony, groveled, begged, and pleaded for forgiveness. At one point he may have slept into Tony’s good graces. But that didn’t matter, because he had only two missions: to make sure Tony knew that nothing he would ever do would make Steve leave again because Steve needed Tony like Tony needed coffee, and to accept the green-eyed boy into their lives if they ever found him. He had found out that Tony had never once stopped searching for Orphan. Steve had started to help search for him after that, but to no avail. See, Steve liked that Tony needed him; it made him happier than saving lives made him, but he wants Tony truly happy and whole again.

Steve affectionately strokes Tony’s hair with the hand that isn't wrapped around his waist. “It’ll be okay.” He really, really wants to believe that. “We should really open the folder. We might be worrying about nothing.”

Tony swallows nervously and Steve can see the way his usually perfectly steady engineer’s hands shake as he opens the folder and flicks the information onto the holoscreens around them, replacing the movie they’d been watching. Tony’s eyes dart over the data so nervously fast that he just sees, and doesn’t really comprehend it until he reads it over again. Steve is a steady presence behind him; that’s the only thing that’s keeping his anchored at this point.

“It has to be him. Only he could pull something like this off…this shouldn’t even be possible. If it’s not him then, well, we have a bigger problem than just my feelings and the life of Orphan.”

Steve is both awed and terrified by what he’s seeing. Tony had told him the kid had been a genius, but this looks more like the work of a magician. The pictures show massive amounts of destruction and if kid had done it all by himself with just a computer then there was no way the kid was purely human. Weapons depots up in flames, London’s traffic grid neatly arranged in the Queen’s image, corgis by her side, leaked secret documents that destroyed careers and caused uprisings, and hospital equipment failures leading to deaths were only the beginning of it. They were all seemingly innocuous, accidental: a wire shorted here, a glitch or bug there. Only compiled, all the incidents placed side by side, did it look like the massive destruction spree that it was.

None of the destruction was done to anyone whom most sane people wouldn't have thought deserved it. But Steve can see why SHIELD is concerned. He can hear the execution order ringing in his ears. He knows, they all know, from previous missions that SHIELD thinks some possible future assets are too dangerous to live, no matter how loyal or useful. But SHIELD has the ability to completely destroy the Avengers: there is no way to go against SHIELD without losing everything, without causing the general population to lose faith in them and begin to fear everything. So they have to do the missions. Even the ones they hate.

Tony hears the execution too. His jitters disappear as he goes stiff as a board. Steve can see the plans forming in his lover’s mind. The file says Tony’s mission is to find out who the hacker is, who he’s working for,and determine if all of this is really his work. SHIELD thinks he works for England, but they're not sure and English aren't saying anything. If he isn't, if he’s a threat? Eliminate him. The words are in bold, as if they’re the only thing that SHIELD really wants Tony to do; everything else is just fringe and fluff, there to make him feel better.

No wonder it's undercover. If the hacker really is working for England, England will be pissed if they find out that SHIELD potentially wants him dead.

“You’ll find him Tony. You can find him now that you know he’s in England, that he’s alive. If the bad guys have him then you’ll rescue him. If he’s working for the good guys then he’s safe.”

“Yeah, I can do this. I really hope it’s him. If I…would you be mad at me?” Tony doesn’t actually say the words, but Steve knows what he means.

“Never. I hope it’s him too; he makes you happy. Though, I don’t think you ever told me why he’s so important to you. I mean, you guys never really even talked to each other.”

“You make me happy." Tony turns and kisses Steve on the cheek before continuing, "But yeah, he does too. I'm greedy like that, sorry. We did though, talk to each other that is. Not conventionally, no, but we said everything we wanted to say. At least I used to think we did." Tony falters for a second, trying to find the right words. "It’s not that the kid is brilliant, well he is that, but the thing is Steve, he needed me. Not Iron Man, not Tony Stark, not even a hero. He didn't expect anything from me other than for me to be me. He just needed someone to know he existed. He could’ve chosen anyone, but he chose _me_. Me, Steve. His eyes were always filled with this beautiful wonder, and he looked at me like I was the answer...Well, he didn't know he was looking at me, he was looking at my code and didn't know I was watching, but it's the same thing really. It’s…an amazing feeling."

“Don't be sorry, I always knew you were greedy. And I know that feeling,” Steve replies. It's the one he often gets around Tony. Now Steve understands why Tony cares so much. “I don't think I'm going to dwell on the fact that you were watching him through his webcam without him knowing. You already know how many levels of wrong that is. I think I’m going to go to bed now, you coming?”

“Hey! When you say it like that it sounds dirty. It was only a few times and he was legal! And it wasn't always his webcam. And he tried to watch me back! I even let him sometimes!" Tony protests, indignant that Steve would ever doubt his integrity. He extracts himself from Steve's embrace and grins at him. "And you know I can't. As tempting as that sounds, I have some work to do. Not all of us can be a kept man. You go ahead, I’ll be up…eventually.”

“What you mean by that is that you want pancakes for breakfast,” Steve jokes as he makes his way to the elevator. He doesn't dignify the rest of what Tony said with an answer.

“Don’t forget the coffee!” Tony is already pulling up more holo screens and turning his music on. "By the way, you're not supposed to agree that I'm greedy. You're supposed to say, "'No you're not dear.'"

Steve just grins at him as the elevator doors close. Steve recognizes the beginning of the song before it's too far away to reach his ears anymore. He hears “Green-Eyed Boy” in his head until he falls asleep. He's sure Tony has it on repeat.

_I flew off to the wild blue yonder cause I had a dream and I had to go. But I'm filled with a sense of wonder from the love I shared with a green-eyed boy. Lips as sweet as mountain honey, a body warm as home made wine. But he had no dreams, and no means for money. But he had me just anytime._

_Take me back, if just in memory; fill my cup again with joy. The fire still burns in the old rock chimney; and I still burn for that green-eyed boy._

_Now, he was pretty, with chiseled features like the movie stars in the magazines: my first love and the son of a preacher. I fantasized me was James Dean, but the world outside kept pulling at me; offered me fame, respect, and gold - designer clothes, and a fancy mansion, expensive cars - so I chose those._

_Take me back, if just in memory; fill my cup again with joy. The fire still burns in the old rock chimney; and I still burn for that green-eyed boy._

_Take me back, if just in memory; fill my cup again with joy. The fire still burns in the old rock chimney; and I still burn for that green-eyed boy. Ooh, ooh, how I love that green-eyed boy. Ooh, ooh, ooh, and I still miss that green-eyed boy._

_Do you think about me when the nights are long and cold? Do you ever miss me? Do you, my green-eyed boy?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos to anyone who can figure out what Tony and Steve were really up to.
> 
> That aside, I just figured out that Tony is 26 when the events in the first Iron Man movie happen. Robert Downey Jr., I love you and your Tony Stark, but I don't think you portrayed that very well. You led me astray ;-;.
> 
> Update! Oh my god I found a fic that has Tony AND Q in it. Even if Tony was kidnapping Q. "Thought Even The Bones Would Do" by TheCatOnTheMoon. How did I not find this earlier.


	5. External Safety to an Internal Trigger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> MI6 reduced him to a letter and told him it was for his own safety. They didn't do a good job.
> 
> Q has his insecurities.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is sort of an interlude, an explanation for Q's actions.
> 
> I have no clue what rating this fic should be so I put it as mature just to be safe.

Q sometimes misses Tony. It’s not a constant ache, more a sudden, bone-shattering, and knifing pain that cuts through him when he least expects it. Sometimes it happens while he’s in the middle of MI6; he finishes a brilliant bit of code and is excited to share it with Tony. He’s halfway into Stark’s servers when he remembers he can’t. The world spins for a moment and he’s left reeling for air afterwards. He remembers that he is Q and Q does not get Tony. He traded Tony for MI6, for the Queen and the country, protection and gadgetry that sometimes loses its meaning. Q has the Queen and the country and nothing else. Q doesn’t have a past, doesn’t have anyone. Sure, he has the Q branch, in a sense. The people are smart and likable, but they’re not Tony. They don’t know him. Not even Blake, who has beautiful lines that he likes to flaunt in front of Q, who Q takes off work early with on nights like these so he can forget his loneliness for a few hours, knows anything about him besides how he likes his alcohol and his favorite position in bed.

Sometimes it’s when he’s at a café, sipping tea. He remembers being a child, sipping tea, and imagining Tony say, “This drink is on me,” and thinking, “Yes, yes it is.” He had thought he was so clever, filling himself with Tony’s money. (As if that would make him worth more, as if Tony would come when the credits ran out.) These times, he goes home and curls up to Iron Man, running his fingers through her soft fur and telling her about how much he loves the creator of her namesake. They burrow under a mountain of soft, woven blankets and he tells her everything he’d like to tell Tony, wistfully pretending that Tony has her bugged and is listening. (He knows that this isn’t true; he's checked again and again.) He clutches the poor beast in his sleep and she bites him in the morning as revenge.

He doesn’t dare go to cafés much anymore. When he does he never orders tea.

When he has spare time, which is near to never, and sits around bored, he is always tempted to check on how Tony is _really_ doing. (Not how crap journalists say he is doing.) But he can’t, because his desires are like kite strings and once he lets them loose they will continue to unravel until he is left buried under a tangled mess. And because he has nothing else to do, no ideas to nurture, he leaves his MI6 flat and street-wanders until he’s weary. He pickpockets rich men and laughs because it's too easy. He no longer needs the money, but it’s his way of proving to himself that MI6 didn’t take all of his past away from him. Q knows how to do things a Q shouldn’t know how to do and nothing that MI6 can do, short of crippling him, can change that. He plays men at pool tables and poker then slips out the back before they can figure out what just happened. He swipes electronics from hardware stores and trades them for shady substances that slow his mind down to one floating point operation per second.

He makes sure to always have a back-up project these days.

The worst times are when he’s engineering and gets stuck. Engineering isn’t his specialty, hacking is. Engineering is Tony’s specialty. He turns around to his computer to contact Tony then stops. He feels hollow for a moment; then the voices appear and fill him with their taunts of _not good enough not such a smart little boy now are you waste of air useless good for nothing can’t do anything on your own no wonder they didn’t want you we sure don’t Tony doesn’t miss you Tony didn’t even notice Tony doesn’t care Tony forgot you like Bond did Tony deleted Orphan Tony deleted you_ and the ache quickly turns into anger. Whatever it is he’s working on ends up broken on the floor and he enjoys the way the pieces crunch under his feet as he leaves the lab. These nights are the reason why he keeps Alec’s number on speed dial. He can’t destroy anything when his wrists are restrained by one of Alec’s large, powerful hands, and the voices are quickly drowned out with urgent whispers of _good boy so beautiful shhh I have you look at the way you take me stop fighting this perfect keep you like this forever so good for me yes like that pet god you don't know how much I want you don’t want to hurt you all mine stay you don’t have to leave it’s late I like waking up holding you._

Q stops engineering when Alec is on missions. If M knows anything, he doesn’t say, but Q notices that the number of Alec’s long-term missions decreases until he only gets week-longs and shorter. Alec never complains so Q never asks how he feels. After all, Alec doesn’t inquire about his feelings. It’s only fair. Their arrangement is purely physical and cathartic, nothing more. They don’t ask about each other’s scars, they merely caress them and hope to prevent more. They leave marks, but nothing lasting.

 _Nobody outside of MI6 can know you are Q_ , the old M had told him and he remembers every word. _We erased your past; nobody notices if a street wandering boy disappears. For this to work you have to cut off contact with anyone who knows you. You have to never appear before them again in any way, shape, or form. If you ever try to, there will be major repercussions for both parties involved. For others, we stage deaths, as those are usually easier, but in your situation that’s unnecessary and people might ask questions._

All in all, there are a lot of things Q doesn’t dare do anymore because he fears the consequences. It’s like childhood all over again, but with guns and bombs and secrets instead of belts and fists and cigarettes. The aches are similar enough. Sometimes he contemplates running away again, like he did a long time ago. But he has nowhere to go, no idea if Tony even remembers or cares about him. If he leaves MI6 he’ll be hunted. The last time he ran he had been harmless. Tony had turned his dull edges sharp, given him just enough power to take care of himself and be safe. It wasn’t his fault Q had been greedy, taken more than he had needed, and ended up too dangerous to ever be safe.

_It’s all for your safety, as well as the safety of our secrets_ , M had said. But Q doesn’t feel safe at all. He feels like blooming dandelions clog his lungs and he is one exhalation from becoming hollow. 

Bond makes him hold his breath. Q doesn’t know the exact reason why. His feelings towards Bonds are a tangled mess. On one hand, the man is gruff and unapproachable and almost never returns Q’s precious tech. He always goes off the grid and never listens to Q’s instructions. He’s no longer the agent he used to be yet is still as arrogant as he probably was as a youth. Still, Q cares about him more deeply than he should. 

Two weeks after Q had lifted Bond’s wallet he found out that the man was a MI6 agent. One who was apparently bothered and bored enough to track Q down. But instead of doing any of the many terrible things Q had imagined he would, Bond had showed him a few tricks, fed him lavish meals, and told him to not do anything that would ever land him on Bond’s radar again. (It turns out Q is as good at obeying Bond’s instructions as Bond is Q’s.)

It’s that side of Bond, the one he only saw once, that makes Q stupidly fond and attracted to the agent. (Let Bond think it’s his stupid one-liners.) Sometimes he thinks Bond might be fond of him too, but then he reminds himself that Bond is fond of anything that moves. He knows this better than anyone, as he is the one listening when Bond reduces women to whimpers.

Sometimes Q wishes it were him, if only to hear Bond call out his real name, the one that only three people, an AI, and two dead woman know. The one that Q sometimes struggles to remember exists. But from Bond he wants more than one-night stand; he wants something to alleviate the loneliness and proof that Q is not just the 17th letter of the alphabet and the Quartermaster of MI6. He knows this will never happen, but still he hopes sometimes.

Sometimes is still far too often and hope is always foolishly enough to keep a man going.


	6. Dreamed With a Broken Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bond is on a mission and Q is his mark. Q wants to be anywhere but there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was rereading a few chapters, proofreading it all over again. I finished chapter 5 and was like, "Wait, where's the next chapter? Why is there no chapter 6? I want to know what happens next...oh crap I should go write that."
> 
> My failures aside, thank you for all the wonderful comments!
> 
> I realize that this chapter is unsatisfying in about a million ways. I apologize.

Bond is no longer grinning; in fact, he’s on babysitting duty. M had informed him with near maniacal glee that he is to guard Q from the American representative, Tony Stark. M doesn’t trust America’s intentions as Tony Stark isn’t part of the United States’ Department of Defense, let alone previously involved with the issue of Chinese hackers. There is no legitimate reason for America to send someone with his particular skillset – a genius billionaire playboy philanthropist – over. M’s theory is that the Americans had tried to hack MI6, saw, and then failed to get past the improvements Q had made, and now want him for themselves.

M had asked Q if anyone from the U.S. had tried to hack into MI6 and the e-mail he’d gotten back had languidly said, “The security system I set up only bothers to find out who the hacker is if they manage to get past the first wall of defense. Otherwise, all I get is hundreds of pings alerting me that yes, someone somewhere is trying to hack into MI6. Surprise! More news at eleven.”

M doesn’t think the Americans are brazen enough to kidnap Q. So, basically, Bond’s job is to keep Tony Stark from wooing the Quartermaster with promises of circuit boards and a lack of bureaucracy. Or from wooing him in general. He’s been permitted to use whatever means are necessary, short of excessive force.

So, correction: Bond is on cock-blocking duty, and since the easiest way to cock-block someone is to seduce the other party...well. He contemplates if it would be easier to bed the Quartermaster, or Tony. Tony has a reputation as a playboy, so he’d be easy, but then again Q is most likely a virgin and those are delightfully easy. Not to mention the fact that Q is much more tempting - ever since that mission Bond has been hyper-aware of Q and finding out that his Quartermaster is, for lack of better words, utterly delectable - and has a crush on Bond. Q it is then. Suddenly, this mission is a lot more appealing. Of course, he’ll only take such measures if they’re absolutely necessary.

\-------

Q sighs; he’s working on a new tracker – Bond broke his last one – when the cause of his labor appears behind him, and is it just Q, or are his steps slightly more predatory than normal?

“Yes Bond? Kill someone lately? Need something to kill someone with?” He asks, curious as to Bond why Bond is so happy and, more importantly, why he is in Q branch.

“No to both, although I wouldn’t mind an explosive pen if you happened to have time.” Bond peers over Q’s shoulder, violating the man’s personal space.

“Perhaps I would if I didn’t always have to remake all the expensive toys you break,” Q replies, pulling himself closer to the desk, away from Bond.

Bond steps forward and now Q is both uncomfortably cramped and close enough to Bond to feel his body heat. “Not always. I brought back the last pen, didn’t I?”

“Yes. You’re 1 for 253. Mummy’s proud. It’s a good thing your success rate at seduction is markedly higher.”

“Is she? Do I get a reward for being so good?” Bond murmurs low, his hand coming to rest on Q’s back where his neck meets his shoulder. Q can feel Bond's words brush past his ear; the heat that they carry cause him to blush. The slightest shiver goes through Q’s body and Bond smiles; Q is right where he wants him. Now to –

“Bond. If you do not remove that hand this instant, not only will you find your success rate plummeting, you will find that this tracker I’m working on right now can double as an explosive potent enough to make even you impotent.” Q’s voice is low and choked, but the frost that coats it is icy enough so Bond removes his hand and backs off a step.

“Thank you Bond.” Q’s voice is much more level now, not wobbling between aroused and frigid. “I suggest you never try to treat me like one of your marks ever again. Now, why are you here?”

“Because you’re my new mark. You have a meeting with an American about the Chinese hackers in 30 minutes. I’m your bodyguard for however long the American is here.”

“Why do you sound like you’re happy about that? Don’t you hate bodyguard missions?” Q is uncomfortably suspicious.

“You’re different. I actually like you.” Q snorts. As if.

“Cut the crap Bond. I’m not a woman. You don’t know me; you couldn’t possibly like me. I certainly haven't given you reason to. At most, you like some idealized image of me.”

“Then let’s fix that. You have to put up with me for however long this thing takes anyways, why not make it fun?” Bond’s voice is smooth as scotch and promises things that would be just as inebriating. Not intoxicating, inebriating, Q reminds himself. Intoxicating would be...things that he can't allow himself to imagine for they'd never happen and the desire would destroy him as surely as a flame burns the moth.

He can't allow himself to get caught. Despite being Bond's mark, he is not going to be another notch in Bond’s nightstand; the agent's nightstand probably can’t withstand another notch by this point. It’s probably little more than a sliver of wood, if even that. “I’ll make sure to be efficient.”

“We’re to meet him at the Dorchester, pack everything you need.”

“Exactly who is footing that bill?” Q asks, quickly stuffing his things into the tattered messenger bag at the foot of his desk. Dorchester is notoriously expensive, not to mention far from MI6. “You do realize that the Dorchester is 40 minutes away with traffic?”

“The representative is paying for it; don’t worry, your tech budget hasn’t been touched. And it’s a good thing traffic is on our side then, isn’t it?” Bond says, all too happily.

Q huffs. “Bond? Give me your arm.” Bond complies and feels the quick swipe of an antiseptic pad before Q injects the new tracker into his forearm with more gusto than necessary. He doesn’t give Q the satisfaction of wincing. Q’s lower lip puffs into a pout at the lack of a reaction and Bond would point it out how adorable it is if he weren’t so well versed in the art of self-preservation.

As Q enters Bond’s car he remarks that the agent must be compensating for something. Bond promises this isn't the case and invites Q to check. As he starts the car he doesn't miss the way Q's eyes widen and dart to his lap for a half-second despite the scathing reply. Yes, Q is definitely interested. Now all Bond needs to do is find out what's holding him back.

\-------

They arrive at the posh hotel with two minutes to spare, all of which are spent taking the elevator up to the top floor. It's the kind of place where Q would get many strange looks from the hospitality if not for the fact they were paid enough to not have opinions. Bond, in his tailored whatever-expensive-brand-Q-can't-be-bothered-to-name suit, fits right in. As Q watches the numbers rise he feels more and more on edge. Who the heck are they meeting and why does he warrant such extravagance? Hell, how does he afford it? There's no way someone working for the American government as a boffin is making this kind of money.

“Bond, are you sure you got the directions right? The top floor is the roof suites, all of which are extremely exorbitant.” He asks, voice steady despite the alarms ringing in his head.

“Yes, I realize that Q. He’s staying in the Harlequin Suite.”

“What? The Harlequin Suite is 9,318 GBP a night. Exactly who is this representative?”

“You don't know? We’re meeting Tony Stark,” Bond replies as the elevator comes to a stop and the doors open. Q almost falls over as it does, barely catching himself in time. The bellhop leads them to the suite, his expression blank the whole time, before disappearing.

Q’s pulse skyrockets, a million thoughts forming in his head; they’re frantic and rushing and crash into each other before Q can make sense of any of them. He disbelievingly echoes, “Tony Stark?” He isn’t aware of anything enough to know if his voice is filled with fear or longing or something else entirely. He doesn’t realize that they’re at the suite, let alone that the door to it has opened. Looking back, he won’t even remember having walked here.

“Yep, in the flesh.” Q nearly jumps out of his skin at the voice. It yanks him out of his jumbled thoughts and back into the present. It’s wearier than he remembers, clearer than he’s ever heard it before, but he knows without a doubt that it is Tony's voice. He can do nothing but stare, dumbfounded, as Tony does the talking for both of them.

He’s older; that’s a given, but Q catalogs it anyways. Tony has the beginning of laugh lines, minute wrinkles next to his eyes, and Q wonders if it’s Steve Rodgers that’s making him happy, making him laugh. Yet, despite the laugh lines there are shadows under his eyes that speak of sleepless nights, and not the good kind. Q knows those well, he sees the same shadows when he looks in the mirror. Tony's were there two years ago, but they were nowhere near this prominent. He wonders what has happened to Tony in the past two years. How much has Q missed? Could Q have prevented them?

Tony’s eyes dart from them to behind them, no doubt searching for threats, with trained precision that speaks of military background that Tony doesn’t have. He leans on his left leg – most likely his right has been permanently injured – and he looks worn to the bone, but he is real and here. He isn’t just a face on a screen, a voice in his ears, a code to be cracked. Q unconsciously reaches out to touch him, just to make sure this isn't a dream.

Then he registers what Tony’s saying and freezes.

“So, are you lead techie or the bodyguard? Because you don’t look like either. Wait, did MI6 send me a college student just to mess with me? Not that I'm particularly upset about that, just the opposite in fact. They should really know better, though. I love beautiful, brilliant things like you, but I have a tendency to get distracted by them, not to mention be a little rough. Not that I ever get any complaints. C'mon in, but leave the bodyguard at the door. I want to find out exactly how brilliant you are. I promise not to bite. Unless, of course...” Tony's mannerisms are exactly the same as those that Q has seen on his screen many times before when watching his Double-Os seduce targets. Tony's voice is a little lighter, more joking innuendo and less deadly, more Tony, but the overall effect is the same.

Q feels as if someone has just shattered him, crawled inside the pieces, and blown away the dandelions that held him substantial. Except there are no wishes. Tony doesn’t remember him.

He tries to rationalize, convince himself that maybe this isn't his Tony. But he'd recognize Tony, the man who taught him how to hot wire a car and how to play chess and poker and every other game he could possibly hustle people with, anywhere. Tony was the one who'd patiently explained to him what a bank account was, or at least how to hack one, when he was fifteen. He was the who'd saved him from 007 ten years ago by wrecking havoc on London's traffic grid then pretended he'd only done it to prove to a friend that he could rearrange London's traffic to resemble the queen and her dogs so he could win fifty bucks. There's no way Q could ever mistake someone else for Tony.

Q is a master of self-deception, but even he cannot deceive himself this. He knows, with every fiber of his being that is still his to feel with, that the man in front of him is the one that he has been in love with ever since he was a child. He knows now, with all of the brilliance he has ever been praised for having, that he meant nothing to Tony Stark. For all that Tony is now close enough to touch he is still as far out of Q's reach as he ever was. Tony may have changed during those two years and Q might have become more dangerous, but nothing has changed between them. Tony is still the unattainable dream that isn't even his to dream about.

 _Nobody notices if a street wandering boy disappears,_ he recalls M saying and he now knows how right she was. He wishes he were a street wandering boy once more; he wants to be anywhere but here, in front of the man _who he loves_ who forgot him and guarded by a man _from whom he'll never receive anything more than lust_ who doesn't remember him.


	7. Being as in Love With You as I am

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q is nothing like Tony had imagined he would be. Bond is imagining things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the slow update! I've been on vacation >:

Tony almost doesn’t recognize Sleipnir at first. His gait is completely different from what it used to be; his footsteps are no longer feather-light and he doesn’t hug the wall, where he used to hide in the shadows. He no longer looks like he’ll jump out of his skin at the slightest noise and his paranoia is far more disguised than it used to be, if not completely gone. He’s taller than Tony now and stiller than he used to be, albeit not by much. His body is fae-like: light and seemingly fragile, but with hidden strength. The only reason Tony knows it isn’t as breakable as it seems is because he’d seen the scars and bruises and burn marks that one time he’d seen Sleipnir through stitching up his arm.

Sleipnir had been haunting in footage, but he’s ethereal in person. He’s changed so much over the past two years that Tony wouldn’t recognize him if not for the fact that Tony used to spend days watching Sleipnir on and off and would recognize his auroral green eyes anywhere, whether in reality or in his dreams. His eyes are hidden by wavy bangs and blocky glasses and the look of wonder that used to light them has been replaced with things that are _bad bad bad_ , but still Tony knows that these eyes are the ones that have plagued his sleep for years.

They’re about the only thing he recognizes; Sleipnir looks so different from how Tony had imagined he would that Tony has trouble fully reconciling the man in front of him with the image of him Tony had created in his mind. Still, he knows, from the look in Sleipnirs’s lost boy eyes, the ones Tony tries to avoid looking at as he speaks, that Sleipnir thinks Tony has forgotten him. It’s hard to keep on talking – to say words that will make sense to the bodyguard and keep him from finding out that Tony and Sleipnir once knew each other – when all he wants to do is grab Sleipnir and slowly relearn him, but he doesn’t know what else to do. He doesn’t know why Sleipnir cut off contact with him two years ago; he doesn’t know if the man next to Sleipnir is really a bodyguard or if he’s actually Sleipnir’s keeper. All he knows is that Sleipnir is working for the queen but the fact that he’s probably safe from SHIELD is hardly any consolation when Sleipnir looks more miserable than Tony has ever seen him before and it’s all Tony’s fault.

Tony had hoped that Sleipnir would catch on. The man is certainly brilliant enough. But Tony is a brilliant liar. That, combined with Sleipnir’s insecurities – the only time that Tony ever seen him look secure was when he was typing away at a computer, hacking into someone else’s security – kills Tony’s hope.

He chances a glance at Sleipnir’s face because he can’t resist looking and the devastation he sees in its beautiful features almost breaks his will to keep up the charade because it tells Tony that, while he knows almost nothing about the man before him but his past, he still holds a precious spot in Sleipnir’s heart _and he’s breaking out of it and leaving wreckage behind him._

\-------

Bond watches Stark like a father trying to keep a horny teenage boy from getting into his daughter’s pants would. Except Bond wants to sleep with Q, so the analogy doesn’t quite work…unless his Quartermaster has a thing for cross-dressing and a daddy kink and who would Bond be to deny his lovely Quartermaster?

Q is frozen in front of him. Maybe he’s never been seduced before and doesn’t know what to do? That, or he’s probably overcome with technophilic lust; Bond had seen the way he’d all but fallen over himself upon hearing Stark’s name. Bond bets that Q’s childhood crush was Stark. And Stark had practically started glowing – Stark, not the contraption in his chest – upon seeing Q. Stark had barely even glanced at Bond. He’s completely focused on Q, even if he’s not looking directly at him. Apparently the reputation that precedes the man is more than true; it’s deader on than Bond’s aim on his best days.

Apparently this mission will be a lot harder than he’d originally thought. It’s not as if he can warn Q off of sleeping with Stark. He imagines that conversation would go badly and actually spur Q to sleep with Stark.

_“But Dad! He’s good enough for Captain America.”_

_“You’re British.”_

_“So?”_

_“We have higher standards here.”_

_“They let you in.”_

_“America has tighter customs. You should really get on that.”_

_“I'll be too busy getting on something else. Sorry not sorry, daddy dearest.”_

Then his brain comes to a momentary halt because the imagined conversation escalades into an imagined Q squirming on his lap as Bond spanks some sense into him. His squirming is useless as Bond holding him down with a hand that spans his waist. The only things it serves to do is make Q’s quickly reddening bottom shake enticingly and turn both of them on further as he ruts against Bond’s thighs. Bond shakes the image out of his head as best as he can and focuses on the present, ignoring the echoes of his imaginary Q’s pleas.

That’s when he realizes nobody has said a word or moved in the past minute or so. Q and Stark have just been standing there still as statues having some strange sort of staring contest in which neither are looking directly at the other person while still looking at the other person. Bond inwardly sighs. It’s time for him to save Q from his awkward teenage boyhood antics. The things he does to protect England’s honor.

He takes a step forward and extends his hand. Stark doesn’t even notice it.

“Mr. Stark. That ‘college student’ can ruin even your credit rating if you make any unwanted advances. Which, luckily for you, you won’t be; I’ll make sure you don’t get too…distracted. I know you American love liberties, but I assure you that you have none here.”

Stark doesn't even glance at him. Bond clenches his hand and withdraws it.

“Huh, guess I’ll have to make sure he’s happy huh? So, are you guys going to introduce yourselves or should I just call you two ‘Gorgeous and the Grinch’?”

Bond grits his teeth and reminds himself that his job is to prevent any international incidents, not start them. He refrains from curling his hand into a fist. “The name is Bond. James Bond. The ‘Grinch’ next to me is David Cox. Now that the pleasantries are done with we should do what we came here to. If you’d please?” His tone implies that even if Tony doesn’t please he should comply if he likes all his limbs in one place.

“You haven’t even taken me out to dinner! What kind of man do you think I am James?”

Bond opens his mouth to retort when Q seems to come out of his daze and shoves past Stark and into the suite.

“The kind of man you are doesn’t matter Stark. Let’s get this over with, shall we?” Q’s voice is snarky but it lacks its usual bite and Bond gets a sense of déjà vu. It takes him a minute to realize why but when he does he finds himself hating Stark more than he thought he would. (And becoming more jealous over Q than he’d never imagined; he’s not exactly sure why.)

It’s the way Q always sounds when he’s flirting with Bond.

Bond makes sure to shoulder check Stark as he makes his way into the room.

“Oh, and Bond? I can handle Stark myself. Feel free to entertain yourself outside.” There’s a veiled threat in Q’s words, but Bond is used to threats.

He hears Stark stifle a snicker behind him.

“Sorry David, orders are orders.”

“If you leave us alone I might just find time for that toy you want.”

Bond’s mind immediately brings up an unwarranted image of Q trussed up on Bond’s bed, spread open and unable to do anything but beg as Bond toys with him. Bond grits his teeth and tries to think about the exploding pen Q is referring to instead. It doesn't help. He leaves the room, but not because of Q's enticement; he has a problem to take care of and the Quartermaster obviously won't be helping.

He makes sure to hit Stark on the way out and dodges Stark’s attempt to hit his ass with the door. When it closes he pulls out his phone.

“Hey Alec? Are you up for a little fun?”


	8. I Told You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Between you, me, and Steve, what could possibly happen?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TouchoftheWind made me a pretty banner! :) http://archiveofourown.org/works/886039  
> Thanks so much!

Tony leans his back against the door, openly staring at Sleipnir – not _David Cox_ because he doubts that that's even Sleipnir's real fake name – now that the bodyguard is in the hall. He suspects he won’t ever get tired of looking at him. “You know, I was serious about dinner. An old friend told me there’s this great café called The Sky’s Pie. How about it?” 

Sleipnir stops unpacking and looks up at Tony. His eyes are so expressive that just glancing at them tells Tony everything he's thinking. His expression is heartbreakingly hopeful and Tony nods. The Sky’s Pie is the café Sleipnir had been in when they’d first encountered. Sleipnir opens his mouth, but stops short of saying anything. His eyes cast downward and when he looks up again any traces of hope are gone, replaced by a maelstrom of emotions that Tony can't decipher but make him want to promise Sleipnir the world on a platter.

“Sorry, I can’t. Besides, I hear the food there is dreadful for your health.” His voice sounds absolutely wrecked and Tony knows that Sleipnir isn’t talking about dinner. He pushes himself off the door and makes his way towards Sleipnir. His steps are slow and get progressively slower as each inch closer has him pausing to noticing something new about the man before him. _Step._ Sleipnir’s hair has streaks of light brown. _Step._ His left eyebrow arches more than his right by a few degrees. _Step._ There’s the smallest scar on his right temple, no larger than a grain of rice. _Step._ There’s a freckle, smaller yet, on his neck, just below his jawline; Tony is close enough to touch it.

“Nobody has to know. I've checked the room for bugs and Grouchy out there can't hear us. Don’t worry, I’ve done a lot of things that my doctor doesn’t recommend and I’m still alive. I suspect you're more than worth the risk,” Tony assures, his voice quiet and low like it would be if he were trying to cajole a frightened, injured kitten. He finds himself wishing Steve was here. (Steve is much better at these things; Tony always gets bitten. If Steve were here Sleipnir wouldn’t be worried at all. Steve makes everyone feel safe. Steve would fall in love with Sleipnir in an instant. Sleipnir would love him back because nobody can resist Steve.)

He brings his left hand up to brush Sleipnir’s bangs away from his face so he can look at him properly, possibly comfort him, but stops himself when he realizes that his touch might not be welcomed. He’s always been a man of action but now uncertainty and indecision eat at him and his hand ends up hanging awkwardly in the air. The curls look invitingly soft, but Sleipnir is staring at him with that look of wonder that had held him captive so many years ago and he’s held captive once more, scared to move, lest he cause it to disappear.

He’s so busy staring at those eyes that he doesn’t notice that Sleipnir has moved until thin, trembling, and calloused fingers find their way under his own metal-forged callouses. His hand is pulled forward until he can feel Sleipnir’s words against the back of his palm.

The words, “I’m sorry,” barely brush his skin, but he almost collapses from the weight of them. He’s ready to apologize profusely, to explain his stupid actions and beg for forgiveness, when Sleipnir’s lips ghost against his knuckles. There’s a hesitant smile dancing with fear in his green eyes as he draws away.

Tony’s face breaks into a full blown grin out of its own volition. Tony shifts their connected hands so he’s gripping Sleipnir, not the other way around, and pulls Sleipnir towards him. He presses against him in an embrace. The susurration of fabric as Sleipnir melts into his embrace – despite the awkward height match up and awkward everything else – echoes throughout the room. Tony hugs him much longer than strictly necessary, memorizing the contours of his body: the way Sleipnir’s hip bones jut against his, the way Sleipnir’s sternum meets his jaw, the lean muscle in Sleipnir’s arms that are tensed against his back, straining to pull him closer.

Eventually Tony pulls away, if only so he can stare some more.

“I’m sorry too,” Tony apologizes. “I didn’t mean to make you think I'd forgotten about you. I didn’t. I looked everywhere, but it was like you'd disappeared off the face of the earth. I thought you might be dead. Steve, Steve helped me look for you. Who are you working for? I’m guessing they’re the ones that made you disappear. God, I missed you. When you’re not around the servers are too quiet. What’s your real fake name now?” Tony knows he’s babbling but he can’t stop. His hands flit through the air in series of nonsensical gestures born out of nervous energy. “Look at how much you’ve grown; no longer jumping at your own shadow. Not that you ever had much of one. What’ve you been doing the past two years? There are rumors that there’s this amazing hacker who can do almost anything. I told Steve that it had to be you. He thinks you’re magical. You’ll be in trouble if you tell me anything, won’t you? They’d never find out though. Even if they did I could take them out. I mean I am Iron Man. Wait, do you still have Iron Man? Are you taking good care of her? Are you taking good care of you?”

Tony pauses for a second to take a breath of air.

“I-“

“We should move to the couch. Standing here makes me feel awkward. Steve and I always have our important talks on the couch,” Tony continues, before he can say anything. He grabs him by the hand and leads him to the adjoining room and plops down on the L-shaped couch, patting the spot next to him.

Sleipnir settles next to him, close enough that their shoulders almost touch, but there’s a distinct millimeter of air between them. “I don’t think you want to try and take MI6 out Tony. Even if you could, there’s a matter of international peace. I don’t think the headline ‘American Hero Attempts to Destroy MI6’ would make Steve very happy. Especially if you did it just because I told you I’m Q.”

“He wouldn’t mind it if I did it for you. Well, not too much. We’re together now, you know. It happened a few months after…you cut me off. He wants to meet you. Huh, so you’re the Quartermaster. It makes sense now. I always knew I didn’t like the British government.”

“Sleipnir had to disappear in order for me to become Q and I had to become Q. I’m to never appear before anyone from my past. I don’t know the exact consequences, only that the threat is real. Onto happier things, my… belated congratulations on your relationship with Steve. Why does he want to meet me though?” Sleipnir’s, no, Q’s voice sounds strangely strained and oh, isn’t that interesting? Tony files that tidbit of information away for further analysis later.

“Sounds lonely. Don’t worry about the consequences. Between you, me, and Steve, what could possibly happen? Want to tell me why you had to become Q?” Tony intentionally doesn’t answer Q’s question about Steve. There’s no good way to explain to someone that he’s never met face to face, let alone spoken to in two years, that his boyfriend wants to meet him because Tony has a giant crush on him and thinks the three of them could live happily ever until Tony somehow manages to get himself killed. Because face it, Steve is going to live forever and Q is much younger than him and doesn’t do stupid stuff like fly around in a metal suit made by a man who hasn’t slept in the past 48 hours. But then the two of them could live happily ever after. Steve would take care of Q, protect him, give him happiness in his strange, sincere, Steve way.

Q gives him a pointed look but answers anyway. “A long time ago, you gave me what I needed to survive.” Q pauses, and takes a deep, weary, breath. He's staring at his hands and Tony can't see his eyes. “You know that I’m far too curious and hungry for knowledge than is good for me; I’m greedy like that. I wanted to do more than survive. I wanted to thrive, to dance around servers and firewalls and data like a thief in the night. And I did. I did all that and more. I became too dangerous for anyone’s good, for my own good. I could launch a nuclear missile without ever leaving my bed.” (He almost did, once, but he’s not going to tell anyone that, not even Tony, not even Iron Man.) 

“Christ Q. It’s strange calling you Q, you know. Why didn’t you just tell me? Ask me for help? You didn’t have to do all this. Are you even happy?”

“I thought about it. I didn’t think you would…I didn’t think…”

“I’m sorry.” Tony feels like an absolute shite. Of course Q hadn’t thought Tony would help him. After all, what had Tony ever done for Q aside from screw up his life? Oh that’s right, he’d sent him a ferret after getting him drunk off his ass. Good job Stark. He doesn’t deserve this, whatever *this* is, but he shifts a millimeter to the right anyways and their shoulders brush.

“It’s fine. I’m content I suppose. I’m safe, have a nice income, and can do what I love without fear of major legal repercussion for the most part. It isn’t too lonely. I have Iron Man to keep me company and some of the double-Os. You recognize the one that was with me earlier?”

Tony thinks that a ferret and a few trained killers, including one that Sleipnir once had to run from, aren’t great company, but he keeps this thought to himself. “He recognize you?”

Q shakes his head. “So, Steve?”

Tony gives himself a second to mentally prep and curse his tendency to talk too much. Now it's his turn to stare at his hands. “I missed you and he noticed that I was mopey on your birthdays. Eventually, he asked. I told him about you, how I met you, stories about how brilliant and prideful you are, everything.” He’s hesitant to share the next part as it sounds borderline creepy but better the whole truth than half. “Sometimes we’d joke about things, imagine what it’d be like if you were there with us. Things like, ‘If Sleipnir was here he’d agree with me. Supernatural is better than Glee.’” Tony stops, waiting for a reaction. He doesn’t mention that some of those imaginings involved Q sleeping curled between them, his head resting on Steve’s chest and Tony’s arm around his waist. There’s a difference between telling the whole truth and telling too much truth.

“He wasn’t mad?” Q’s face is neutral with the exception of his eyebrows, which are drawn together in thought.

“He was at first, but after a week or so of avoiding me he came down to my lab with breakfast and asked, ‘What do you think your Green-Eyes eats for breakfast?’ That’s how the whole thing started. It didn’t become a thing until last year. Everyone else had moved out of the tower; it got lonely and depressing sometimes.” He knows now that they'd been wasting their time when they'd imagined up Q. He's nothing like they'd thought he'd be. He's more beautiful than Tony had thought he'd be and with Tony's imagination, that's really something.

“Why me?” Q asks.

“Because I like you. Steve likes you too; as much as someone could possibly like someone they've only heard about secondhand. Which, turns out, is a lot. He, uh, we…there’s a room for you in the tower if you ever want it. All the paintings in there are drawn by Steve. We...it was silly, but we thought if we ever found you and you should have a place to recover or feel safe or whatever. ” There, Tony’s said it all and it only took him 72 seconds. Sure, it had sounded much better in his head – the speech had actually been articulate and enunciated in his head – but he managed to do it and that’s what counted. He mentally pats himself on the back and hopes that Q won’t ask for him to slowly repeat what he’d just said. Or, you know, run away screaming.


	9. Eh, Let Him Figure It Out On His Own

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Have you ever tried being on Q duty? It's not easy.
> 
> A.k.a. Bond can't handle Q on his own and calls for backup.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love this chapter, I do; I had a phone call about Q between Bond and Alec planned since like the first chapter, but this chapter is proof that the English language confuses me. (Blame my best friend, the grammar guy, who is male and won't touch this fic with a ten foot pole because I'm apparently desecrating his Bond.)
> 
> Please feel free to correct my grammar in your head, in the comment box, hijack the fic and grammar Nazi it until Steve shows up and orders you to stop, anything really. 
> 
> Consider yourself forewarned.

Alec sighs when he feels his phone vibrate; he was about to approach the pretty blond who is making eyes at him down the bar. He’s about to tell whoever is calling him to piss off when he sees that it’s James, and his private number at that. He shoots the blond an apologetic look and takes the call. Alec motions the bartender to get him a shot; he’ll need it judging by how tense James sounds.

He downs it then replies, “You know I always am. What’s the problem James?”

“A Tony Stark, have you heard of him?”

“Why?” Alec asks, curious and suspicious. Everyone has heard of Tony Stark.

“I’m on Q duty while he works on something with Stark and when I say Q duty I mean M wants me to keep him out of the hands of Americans, both literally and figuratively. Only I think there’s something M isn’t telling me; he never tells me to use whatever means are necessary. I think he's scared.”

“Huh. Nobody I’d know, eh?” Alec mumbles as pieces of a long-forgotten puzzle click together in his head. It seems his dear Quartermaster has lied to him. A slightly vindictive part of Alec wants revenge. It tempts him to tell James to just put Q on a leash, tell him to heel, and call it a day, but he knows Q would like that far too much. Then again, he might not. Q is always strange when it comes to James, even if he's Q type. (He has to be Q's type, right? He could pass for Alec's brother, if not his father.)

James apparently hears him because he sighs. “Well if you watched the news more you would.”

“I’m too busy being the news, even if nobody knows it’s me. So, what’s the problem?” He asks, already knowing the answer.

Q has a habit of murmuring the name “Tony” in his sleep when he’s curled up next to Alec after a rough night. Once, Alec had asked him about it the next morning and Q had shrugged it off, claiming it was nobody Alec would know and nothing to worry about.

Of all the people named Tony that Q could possibly be obsessed with, of course it has to be the one who is a notorious playboy that flies around in a suit that looks like a life-sized Japanese action figure. There’s no way he’ll be able to keep those two apart if the attraction is mutual. Seeing as Stark is renowned for liking pretty, smart, and shiny things that aren’t his, it’s practically guaranteed that the two are all over each other. 

What Alec can’t figure out is how M knows about Q’s crush. Or why M didn’t give James a gambler’s chance. Poor James doesn’t have a clue. He’s in arse over head and doesn’t even know it. Alec can’t help but to grin at the thought, although, if the way the bartender is looking at him is any indication, he should turn the maniacal glee down a notch. But he can’t help it, after all, James’ mission success rate is about to take a hit in a hilarious way, which means nobody gets harmed and, more importantly, Alec will be in first place again.

“At the rate they’re fawning over each other I almost don’t know who I should be threatening to restrain. I swear Q almost fainted like a schoolgirl when I told him we were meeting Tony Stark. He all but ordered me out of the room.”

Alec frowns. “And you actually left?” That’s nothing like that Bond he knows. 

“My presence would have only aggravated them both and been counterproductive to my mission. The figurative one that is, not the literal one. They’re probably making their way to the bedroom as I speak, which is why I’m calling you. You’re great at mucking up seductions and can stop them without causing the inevitable crisis that unleashing two pissed off, sexually frustrated world-class engineers – who have a penchant for blowing things up – onto greater London would be.”

“What if they really like each other?” Alec asks, suddenly glad that Bond called. With Bond’s penchant for pissing people off, who knew what state London would be in right if he’d stayed in the room.

“Do you really want to lose our Quartermaster to some cocky American who is famous for making glorified Halloween costumes? Even if you didn’t like Q, imagine trying to find someone to replace him or what he’ll be like after a notorious playboy he’s probably fantasized about since puberty breaks his heart.”

Bond has Alec at the words ‘breaks his heart.’ He doesn’t care if Stark sleeps with Q, in fact if it makes Q happy then he hopes Stark does. What Alec does care about is that when all is said and done, Q is in one happy piece, undamaged, and still his Q. He slams a few bills down on the counter and grabs one last shot before he hits the road. “Good point.” 

He’s downing it when James says, “Besides, have you ever seen American porn? If Q loses his virginity to Stark he’ll probably be rid of sex for life.”

He chokes and sputters and fuck, that burns. He’s no stranger to torture, but vodka down the wrong pipe is just cruel. At least gasping for air prevents him from bursting out laughing. James thinks Q is a virgin? James thinks Q is a virgin. James thinks that the best lover, if Q can be called that, Alec has ever had is a virgin. If only he knew the things Q could do with that tongue of his or how pretty and submissive he on his knees. When Alec finally manages to fill his lungs with oxygen and not alcohol he tries to steer his mind back to the conversation. He eventually manages to croak, “Really James? Porn? American at that?”

The bartender’s head whips around and she gives him the weirdest look. He grins as charmingly as he can and when that doesn’t seem to help he slides more bills onto the counter. He likes this bar and would like to be able to come back, thank you very much James.

“No but I assume that that’s where they get all their pathetic ideas of sex from.”

“US Embassy mission last month that bad? I told you to go after the cute boffin, but noooo, you had to choose the buff blond with the big bo-.”

Bond cuts him off before he can finish. “Even worse. A bloody IKEA manual could put them to shame. Hell, they could probably learn a thing or two from one. It doesn’t matter how cute they are; they don’t know what sex is. Neither does Q, but that’s not the point. And I’ll have you know it wasn’t just last month. It was also the year before that, and the year before that one. Every. Single. Year. Alec.” If James were a lesser man, Alec would swear that James was tearing up at the mere thought because he sounds pitiful and pathetic, even to Alec. Alec has heard men beg for their lives with less pleading undertones.

“There there James, it’ll be alright,” Alec coos sarcastically. “So, where are you guys or am I supposed to guess?”

James must regain his composure because he sounds like his _old_ self again when he replies, “We’re at the Dorchester, Harlequin Suite.”

“I thought you were in the hallway and Q was in the bedroom.”

“Just get over here,” James barks and then the line goes dead. Alec immediately lets out the laughter he’d been holding back the entire conversation. He doesn’t stop even when he nearly crashes into someone. He can’t get over the idea that Bond thinks Q is a virgin when Q is so…Q. He can’t wait to tell him. Knowing Q, he’ll probably torment James in some strange and sadistic, but hilarious, way. Poor James hasn’t a clue about their Quartermaster. It’s always been a flaw of his. Just because the game is easy he assumes the players are too. Then again, Q had been a virgin when he’d first become Quartermaster, so maybe it’s Alec’s fault that James is so wrong and in the dark.

That’s when it hits him and his laughter dies. The ‘something’ that Mallory isn’t telling James can’t be Q’s crush on Stark. He thinks that Alec and Q are a serious thing. Whatever it is that M isn’t telling James is far less innocent than a childhood celebrity crush. This isn’t just a simple game of keep-away; it’s something else entirely. Alec just doesn’t know what.

As the elevator ascends Alec has another yet another belated revelation and this one is even more unsettling than the last one. There’s something off about what James had said. Why would James care if Q had bad sex or never had sex again for the rest of his life? It’s not James’ sex life on the line. There was no reason for him to mention it unless…oh.

_Oh._

Alec curses and thumps the back of his head against the elevator wall. The elevator shakes and the doorman politely glares at him but he doesn’t care.

This mission just got a lot more complicated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The age jokes! I'm sorry, I couldn't resist. Speaking of jokes!
> 
> Alec and Bond walk into a hotel...Q and Tony are in the bedroom...


	10. Over you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony and Q are trying to figure things out. Q comes up with a great plan. (He thinks he's so clever.)

Tony’s words are beautiful, and Q has a fear of beautiful things. Beautiful, in his world, means destruction. His code, his weapons, 006, 007, Moneypenny; their beauty is like the colorful wings of poisonous butterflies, a forewarning. When he’d first realized he’d be meeting Tony Stark a seed of a dread had planted itself inside his core. Now Q soaks up Tony’s water and sunshine words and blooms. Tendrils of dread and doubt spread through his veins and every childish fantasy Q has ever had about being saved ( _loved needed wanted loved_ ) by Tony is destroyed by the weight of reality. He asks questions, not really wanting to hear the answers. He’s always been curious to the point of masochism. As always, the world is happy to oblige him.

There’s no way he could ever live up to Tony and Steve’s imaginations. Tony would be better off building a hologram, programming an AI. The person Tony likes isn’t Q, but some romanticized version of him tailored into their lives. Their version is probably normal and whole, not dangerous, not needing or craving things that only men like Alec can give, not brittle as toffee and bitter as coffee.

Q is no longer an innocent with no blood on his hands. He’s no longer the wide-eyed child who had needed help to understand the codes and algorithms Tony had showered him with. Tony is no longer a man who distracts himself to destruction because he’s a desperate need for genuine affection and spurned by the only one who can give it to him. Tony’s no longer the broken-hearted man who had needed the consolation ( _prize_ ) of Q. Tony has Steve now.

If Q enters their lives they’ll grow to resent him for ruining their image of him. Tony had made a room for him to _recover_ in. He’d thought that Q had been kidnapped or tortured when Q had really just cut off all ties without warning. If that isn’t a sign about how disillusioned Tony is about Q, then what is?

And why is Tony here now, telling him all this? Is he trying to destroy Q, telling him he could have had something but lost it? Q wishes he had a handler, someone to tell him what’s going on, what to do.

“What do you want of me?” He asks. He can feel Tony’s nervousness through their point of contact. It echoes his own.

“Well, a phone call or something every once in a while just to let me know you're still alive might be nice.” Tony replies jokingly.

Q winces.

“Look, even though you haven’t talked to me for two years, I know you’re a lot like me. Feel free to slap me anytime if I’m wrong. You don’t know why I’m doing this, telling you all this. You think you’re not worth it or something, that we’ll get to really know you and then hate you, that you’ve done unforgivable things, blah blah blah, some other bullshit that isn’t true. You’re a regular teenage angst fest. All I want from you is your company. Meet me halfway here Q? I’m bad at this stuff.”

Q knows that Tony isn’t just being arrogant or lying even. He’d been there when Tony had been going after Steve, after all. Somehow, despite all of Tony’s misgivings, they had worked out. Q knows that angst is annoying and a hindrance, that in Tony’s eyes he’s being a brat. But that’s not why Q says yes. He says yes because Tony is asking and Q can’t say no to him.

“I can’t say I understand, but okay. I missed your company as well.” He knows he’s being overly polite, but he doesn’t know what else to be. He doesn’t know what he is to Tony. They’ve never met before, Q hasn’t talked to him in two years, and Tony just confessed to him that…something. Q has no idea how to begin interpreting what Tony just told him, let alone how to respond.

Apparently Tony senses his unease because he eases away and smiles a little too brightly. “Good, nothing you don’t want to do. I promise. So, how long until your bodyguard manages to get eyes and ears on us?”

Q blinks. He’d forgotten all about Bond. Now that he thinks about it, it’s strange that Bond is accompanying him. He knows for a fact that there’s a mission in Syria that could use 007 and a normal agent would’ve been sufficient for Q’s protection. It’s even stranger that Bond had actually left the room. There must be something Bond didn’t tell him.

Q has a great idea on how to get back at him. Lord knows Bond deserves it for all the times has left the com on while…extracting information. He’d started the habit after Q had made fun of a failed seduction attempt a year ago and has been doing it ever since.

Q jumps off the couch and makes his way to his laptop, checking the hotel’s cameras after taking the necessary minute to hack into them. Sure enough, Bond is nowhere to be found. He’d disappeared a minute ago with - Was that Alec? He’d called Alec? Either way, Q doesn’t have much time. His plan is perfect though. He’ll get to pull one over on his agents _and_ get up close and personal to his long-time crush under the guise of a prank, which might be the only time he’ll ever get to, seeing as Tony has Steve and only wants Q’s companionship. Q desperately hopes Tony agrees to it.

“Not long. Are you up for some fun?”

“Always, what are you thinking of?” Tony’s grin is genuine this time and Q likes it a lot more than his too-shiny smile.

He walks back to Tony, swinging his hips a little more than strictly necessary, in case his Double-O’s are already watching. When he arrives at the couch he places a hand on Tony’s thigh and prowls onto his lap so he’s straddling the older man. Q smiles coyly. “I know this a little forward of me, but let’s take this to the bedroom, shall we?” Before Tony react he leans so that his lips are brushing Tony’s ear. “Are you up for it?” Q grinds his hips and can feel that yes, Tony would indeed be up for it. It’s a relief to know that Tony is physically attracted to him. It gives him the courage to continue. “Just pretend, for the bodyguards. You don’t have to; I know you have Steve to think about.”

\-------

Now would be the perfect time to tell Q that Steve wouldn’t mind, that Steve would want to watch, order them around, but Tony’s brain had short-circuited the minute Q had turned his gaze from his laptop to Tony, licking his lips and staring at Tony like he was starving and Tony was the most delicious thing he’d ever seen.

He places his hands on Q’s hips to stop him from moving like that because if he doesn’t Tony will never manage to gather enough brain cells to rub out a reply. “Yes. Bedroom is down the – ah!” Q nibbles his ear and he forgets what he was about to say. Tony desperately hopes that this isn’t just pretend, because if it is then he’s about to take some serious advantage of circumstance, not to mention Q.

He moves his hands down so he’s firmly cupping Q’s wonderful ass then stands. Apparently Q decides that’s a good time to start sucking on Tony’s neck. Tony’s legs almost buckle but he manages to get them both into the bedroom – where the entrance the balcony is – where he all but throws Q onto the bed. The second Q’s back hits the covers Tony is on top of him, pressing down on him so he can’t do anything that will drive Tony brainless with lust.

Only then does he allow himself to finally kiss Q. He kisses Q gently, without tongue, with just the delicate friction of lips against lips. For all that Tony wants Q and this is a show for the bodyguards, this is still their first kiss. Their eyes are open and they’re grinning madly at each other, their smiles interlocked. It’s innocent and soft; kissing for kissing’s sake. Then Q squirms underneath him, flicks his tongue against Tony’s lips, and they’re no longer just kissing.

Q’s fingers have found their way under Tony’s shirt; they trail up his sides, feather light. He traces the arc reactor and Tony would be about to have a panic attack except it’s Q. Q, who has a look of utter reverence on his face that makes Tony feel like he’s on top of the world. Q, who is trying to take off Tony’s favorite shirt with his teeth because he can’t seem to stop touching the arc reactor.

Tony sits up and pulls off his shirt. In the second it takes him to throw it on the floor Q has managed to squirm out from underneath him and gotten on his knees. He’s so close that Tony can see whirring blue rings in his eyes.

“I can feel it humming under my fingers.” Q sounds breathless and Tony hasn’t even done anything, not really. (He doesn’t have the cognitive clarity to remember that Q shouldn’t be able to feel the reactor humming.) Q licks the skin next to the reactor and Tony almost loses it. He can barely feel it, but the visual is more than enough. Q’s pupils are dilated and his eyes almost look as blue as Steve’s with the reflected light. There’s a visible wet spot forming on his pants and his cardigan has disappeared, leaving only a white shirt so thin that Tony can see his nipples through it. His cheeks are flushed, his glasses crooked, and his hair is a mess; he looks like he’s unraveling, slowly becoming undone so he can become Tony’s. Tony has to press a palm against his cock to keep himself from doing anything rash or embarrassing.

Q seems to take it as an invitation because his hands jerk away from the arc reactor and make quick work of Tony’s belt. Tony puts a hand around his wrists to stop him, but Q doesn’t slow, working on his zipper.

“No,” Tony commands quietly. Q immediately withdraws his hands. His head is tilted in a question and Tony can’t help but to bite the stretch of pale neck that’s exposed by the gesture. Q gasps, head tilting back, and Tony bites him again, shoving Q’s collar out of the way. His other hand is on the small of Q’s back, trapping him against Tony as he trembles and shakes.

Tony makes his way down to Q’s collarbone, leaving a trail of marks as he licks, bites, and sucks every other inch of skin. Tony loves the sight of his claims on Q; Steve never bruises.

Tony lets go of Q’s collar to grab his hair. He gently pulls so that he can mark the other side as well. He experiments, biting softly then increasing the pressure until Q moans. He stops and kisses the teeth marks in an apology.

When Q whimpers, “Harder. Please, Tony,” his hips canting upwards in an attempt to find friction, any restraint that Tony has breaks. He shoves Q back down onto the bed and takes his lips in a brutal kiss. They slide their bodies against each other but there are too many layers of fabric in the way for any satisfaction.

Eventually Tony finds the willpower to pull an inch away from Q and prop himself up so he can fumble with the buttons to Q’s shirt. He's clumsy in his urgency and Q isn’t helping Tony’s coordination; Q's arms are trapped between their bodies, his hands down Tony’s pants, palming his cock. Tony is doing more hip thrusting than he is unbuttoning and ends up ripping the last two buttons off in his impatience. He spreads the shirt open, revealing a thin, toned waist that he wants to claim immediately, but Q's arms are still in his way.

Tony sits up and pulls Q with him. He captures Q's lips in another kiss _\- it's been at least two minutes since he has last kissed Q and that's one and half minutes too many because god, he'd missed this, Q is going to ruin him -_ as he pushes at Q's shirt, sliding it down his arms. The shirt is one small tug from being forgotten when Q jerks away from him. Tony backs off to give him space and ask what’s wrong, but words are lost to him when Q pushes himself up the bed, away from Tony, frantically pulling his sleeves back up, fear in his fragile features.

Any arousal is completely gone. Tony feels as if he’s been blasted with a fire hose filled with freezing water. He reaches out to assure Q that he won’t hurt him. To pull him close, hug him, apologize, ask him how he can fix whatever is wrong.

In retrospect, Tony can see how that was a really, really bad idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut for the sake of plot, there you have it folks. 
> 
> I have a problem with nipples. T_T It's such a weird word. Do people find male nipples attractive??? Do they weird anyone else out? Do I describe them as perky, cute? Cute nipples? I mean that's how manga describes them, but other than that? Can someone help me here?
> 
> …the above is the sole reason this chapter took so long to type out. 
> 
> #reasonswhythiswillbetheonlysmutinthisfic #ihope


	11. (Plans) Fall to Pieces Around You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bond joins Tony and Q in the bedroom and Alec brings the supplies. Fun ensues.

Alec is inside the hotel, getting to work on his plan. Bond doesn’t know what it is, but Alec has promised him it'll work. Alec has also told him that M is keeping secrets; as if Bond doesn’t already know that.

Bond is outside, hauling himself up to the eighth floor via the wraparound terraces as fast as he can. If Alec is right about there being something wrong about this mission then Q might be in danger – of more than just losing his virginity. Not that Q can’t handle himself, but still ( _they all worry_ ). Bond pulls himself over the balcony railing to the eighth floor’s terrace and glances through the glass door. 

Nothing could have prepared him for what he sees. Q is huddled in a stack of pillows at the head of the bed. His trembling hands fumble as he attempts to button up his torn shirt, his body is littered with teeth marks and bruises, and he’s _scared_. Bond has seen, well, heard Q be a lot of things, but never scared. He looks small and breakable. He looks nothing like the stoic Quartermaster of MI6, the man who stares down Double-Os and brings buildings down before his first cuppa whilst still in his pajamas.

Stark, the reason for Q’s current state, reaches for Q and Bond loses it. Fuck the plan. He shatters the glass door with his gun, not wasting the time it would take to check if the door is unlocked. He jumps at Stark, pinning the man down on the bed with a hand on his throat. He squeezes even though it’s unnecessary as the man isn't fighting back. Q is screaming, but Bond doesn’t register what he’s saying. Bond is about to punch the bastard in the face when something barrels into his side, pushing him off of Stark. Stark takes advantage of this to roll away and breathe. Bond grabs his arm before he can get away and whirls to look at Q.

“What the hell David?”

Q is seething, rage slipping out through his gritted teeth. “If you’d listened to what I was saying, you would know what. What the hell are you doing, breaking the window and assaulting Tony?”

“I was saving you!” Is Q really so freaked out that he can’t realize that?

“From what? Stark? We were enjoying ourselves.” Q replies, all haughty disdain like the Q that Bond knows. 

“Then why were you on the other side of the bed, shaking with fear?” Bond asks. Q calls being terrified out of his wits enjoyment? He must be scared stupid if he thinks that he was having a good time and didn’t need saving.

Q opens his mouth to speak but closes it without saying a word. After a moment he says, “That was my fault. I…that was –” He’s cut off by a knock on the door.

“Room service for Mr. Stark!” It’s Alec. God, when Alec finds out what Stark did he probably won’t be able to stop himself from attacking the man. Alec’s temper is worse than Bond’s and after their latest mission Bond is pretty sure that he’s sweet on Q. When Bond had asked Alec what he knew about Q Alec had said nothing but praise, a hint of adoration in his eyes. 

“David, go get the door,” Bond commands. Q complies, but not before shooting Bond a warning look. In turn, Bond glares at Stark. Once Q is out of earshot he hisses, “What did you do to him? And why does he think it’s his fault?” His grip on Stark’s arm tightens when the man doesn’t answer right away.

Stark raises his free arm in the universal gesture of surrender. “I don’t know what happened. It was supposed to just be a harmless prank; we were just having some fun and then-“

“Just having some fun?” Bond echoes menacingly. His hand is back on Stark’s throat in an instant, just in case he doesn’t like the next words that come out of Stark’s mouth.

\--------

“Nobody I’d know, hey?” Alec jokes as Q opens the door. He looks deliciously marked and claimed. Alec is about to ask what he’s doing here when Tony is probably on the bed when he hears Bond’s voice. Ah.

“Alec, what’s with the bag?” Q doesn’t sound too surprised to see him here. The little trickster had probably set something up for them. That’d explain why Bond is in here instead of outside.

“Some items someone wanted to give to Stark. I decided I’d deliver them because I wanted to check up on you. It’s going well, by the looks of it.” It looks like Stark isn't just a childhood crush of Q’s. If the possessive marks on his body are any indication, Stark has more than a superficial thing for Q. The two have met before. 

Q arches an eyebrow at the bag, which is failing to contain all of its contents. “Bond put you up to it,” he accuses. “Why is he assigned to me anyways?”

Alec neither confirms nor denies Q’s accusation. “M assigned him to keep Stark from wooing you." 

Q laughs, "Really? That's the best M could come up with?"

Alec grins. "I know. Still, Bond seems to have taken it to heart to keep you two apart. I mean, he even called me to ask for help. Said I was good at botching up seductions, would you believe it? So, are you sure Stark is trustworthy? How long have you known him for?”

“I just met him today,” Q lies. Alec doesn’t know why Q is lying to him. It hurts in a way Alec rarely hurts, but Alec knows that Q must have his reasons. ( _That doesn’t make it hurt any less_.) "But I'm pretty sure he's not out to hurt me or England."

“Did he see the marks from the other day?" ( _Post-mission sex tends to leave those._ ) "How did he react? And what did you do to Bond to rile him up so bad? The man thinks you’re a virgin you know. He’s also sweet on you, so perhaps show a little mercy.”

“No, I remembered them at the last second, but I panicked. I didn't want to scare him off Alec. I’m afraid that’s when Bond burst in, screaming bloody murder. Huh, Bond’s reaction makes more sense now that you’ve told me that he thinks I’m some sort of innocent. And please, Bond is sweet on anyone he can use.”

Alec ruffles Q’s hair. Poor pet has no clue when it comes to James. “He’s not sweet on me. Now, let’s go save your Tony.”

\-------

“Bond, you can let go of him. I think I know what happened,” Alec calls into the room. He’s absolutely calm, smiling even, as he walks in, twirling a bag. A pair of fuzzy, bright, neon pink handcuffs dangle out of it. He isn’t even pretending to be the bellhop that he’s dressed as. Q is next to him and seems to be his normal self again, if a little sheepish. What the hell is going on? Bond eases up, but he doesn’t completely let go of Stark.

“You really should let go of me. I’d rather not piss off David or the Queen but I’m getting pretty tired of you trying to squeeze the air out of my throat and if you don’t get off of me soon I’m going to have to kick your ass.” 

Bond scoffs at Stark’s threat. The man isn’t in his suit, what could he possibly do? But he lets go and backs away nonetheless for the sake of peace and the integrity of any future equipment he’ll receive from Q. “So, anyone care to explain what happened then?”

“Not really, it’s none of your concern,” Q quips.

“Actually, it’s within my mission’s scope, so it is. Alec?” Bond turns to his friend for answers.

“You won’t like it.” Alec replies, not quite meeting Bond’s eyes. 

Bond is starting to get really irritated with all this avoidance. He raises an eyebrow. _Really, Alec?_

Alec sighs. “David and Stark were er, getting to know each other, but as Stark was taking Q’s shirt off Q remembered something and overreacted, that’s all.” 

That’s all? How can Alec say that when whatever Q had remembered had made him look so…fragile? What had Q remembered? Had Q been assaulted before? “What was it?” Bond asks. He has to know, if only so he can kill the bastard who hurt Q.

Alec and Q look at each other and have a war of facial expressions. Heads bop and shake spastically, eyebrows raise, lips twist, and facial muscles twitch as they silently yell, “No, _you_ tell him,” at each other. Watching two of three of the Queen’s finest act like children would usually be comical, but Bond is more in the mood for murder than laughter. Finally, Alec gives Q a strong glare and Q’s face scrunches a little in a pout of defeat. 

“I uh, have pretty visible rope marks on my wrists,” Q says at last. “I remembered they were there at the last second and freaked out because I didn’t want Tony to see them and freak out or get the wrong idea. I managed to kill the moment by trying to not kill the moment.” He sounds a bit woeful as he says the last bit.

Bond’s mind jumps through at least a hundred different scenarios, revisiting some earlier ones, but finally latches onto a single question. “Why does Alec know about them?”

“Alec is the one who tied the rope,” Q explains in a completely blasé, non-helpful way and Bond arches an eyebrow suggestively. “Oh! No no no, I didn’t get them from anything like what you’re thinking of. He was helping me with resistance training; how to get escape from handcuffs, wriggle my way out of ropes, stuff like that.” Q is a good liar. He holds eye contact, doesn’t scratch the back of his head nervously like so many do, and his voice is even. Bond would almost believe him, if not for the fact that he’s blushing like a schoolgirl.

Bond slowly moves his gaze from Q to Alec, carefully maintaining his poker face. He pointedly looks at the fuzzy handcuffs Alec is holding. “Please tell me you didn’t.” He and Alec need to have a long, vodka inspired, talk. Images of Alec and Q together flash through his mind and Bond doesn't know if the rage ( _stabbing pain_ ) he feels is because he's bitter that Alec never told him or because he's angry at himself for being foolish enough to think that Q would desire an old warship that's about to be hauled away for scrap. 

“Oh these? Here Stark, Steve sends his love.” Alec tosses the bag to Stark, who’d been uncharacteristically silent the whole time. Stark dumps it out on the bed and the two boffins stare at the rainbow colored contents with a mix of disturbed disbelief and plain horror. Q walks towards the bed and sits down between Bond and Tony, gingerly picking up a puddle of plastic between his thumb and forefinger and examining it. 

“…is this an inflatable? What does it turn into?” Q asks, looking at the thing like it morally offends him. 

"Only one way to find out!" Stark grabs it from him and starts blowing it up.

While Q and Stark are distracted, Alec shoots Bond a look, gesturing at two geniuses on the bed with his eyes. Bond nods in agreement. Judging by how Stark had all but hissed at Alec when Q had mentioned that the rope marks were Alec’s fault, Stark has feelings for Q. This isn’t the first time the two have met.

“Steve sent this?” Stark asks, unashamedly waving a jiggling, slime-green fleshlight in the air. Q is beside him, poking the inflatable that turned out to be cushion with a vibe in the middle with childlike curiosity. He looks like he expects it to jump to life and bite him.

“Well, he asked the concierge to find the items and deliver them to you this morning. Sorry for the delay, some of the more eccentric items were hard to find. He asks you don’t start without him; he knows that these are your favorites and you tend to get a little overexcited sometimes,” Alec lies even though the jig was up the moment he’d told Bond to let go of Stark.

Bond is glad he’d misinterpreted the earlier situation and barged in, if this is what Alec’s supposedly foolproof plan had been. Exactly how did Alec think a bag of odd sex toys supposedly sent from a lover would keep Q from falling for Tony? If anything, they look like they’re having fun with the wretched pile of human innovations gone wrong.

“Ya…I don’t think so. What’s really going on here? How do you know about Steve?” Stark asks Alec. “What were you planning to do with this stuff before Bond here barged in and mucked everything up? Do I even want to know?”

“None of that is important.” Bond cuts in before Alec can answer and embarrass them all by telling Stark that they're trying to stop him from sleeping with the Quartermaster of MI6. “Stark, what’s the real reason you’re here? It’s obviously not because you want to work on an anti-Chinese hacker defense system. What do you want with David?”

“A lot of things, but I think you already know that." Tony pauses, staring at them thoughtfully. His expression becomes gravely serious. "How much do you two care about him? Would you protect him with your lives?” Bond and Alec both nod. Of course they would; he’s their Quartermaster. Q has saved both of their lives countless times. That aside, Bond likes hearing Q's voice in his ears, even if he means nothing special to Q. Tony turns to Q. "Do you trust these two with your life?" When Q nods Bond feels a wave of pride and pleasure rush through him. He tries to ignore it and its implications.

“Okay. Obviously nothing I say ever leaves this room,” Tony says and they nod their assent. “An organization called SHIELD sent me here. They know what David can do and they’re wary. I was sent here to capture or kill the man you know as Q.”

Bond's fingers find his Walther in an instant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alec's plans are even better than Q's. 100% foolproof.
> 
> The cat is out of the bag. So are the fuzzy pink handcuffs.
> 
> ...the inflatable cushion thingie is a real thing. I don't know why. I don't know why I thought it'd be okay to google what I did T_T.


	12. Fragile Me, Needing You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The damage might be irreparable.

Q knows, that when Bond points the gun and Stark and says, “Tell me why I shouldn’t kill you here and now,” that it is for his benefit. It’s a strange form of reassurance, as affectionate as Bond can get, but it’s the only thing that keeps Q from bolting to his apartment and turning his security system on to kill. At least Q thinks that’s what it is; Bond isn’t the type to point his gun and not pull the trigger. Not that Q is a hundred percent sure that he won’t, but Q figures that he would’ve pulled it by now if he was going to at all. 

Apparently Tony does too as he says, without batting an eyelash, “I’m guessing you already figured out the answer to that. Otherwise you would’ve shot me already. Anyways, the only reason I’m telling you this is because I can’t protect him from SHIELD. If they even find out that I’m telling you this, Steve and I are screwed.”

“Then why are you telling us this?” Bond asks, lowering his Walther. 

“Q doesn’t deserve to die or become SHIELD’s plaything. See, sometimes SHIELD likes to take out potential threats, people who could become dangerous, but those are always people who have powers that they can’t control, like meta-humans. It’s wrong, but it makes some semblance of sense because if they freak out or become evil or something they could decimate cities. This mission I’m on? It makes no sense. The folder I got says I’m to check Q’s loyalties, but no matter where they lay, the order is the same.”

“Why me?” Q protests. “I haven’t done anything to anyone who didn’t deserve it and there are other hackers out there who are about as good at me and will do anything for the right amount of money. In any event, they have you to stop me if I try anything.” The second sentence is a lie, but nobody needs to know that.

“I don’t know.” Tony answers. “Although, those other hackers aren’t quite as good as you are. Even I would require help to stop you.” He’s referring to Jarvis. Jarvis is the ultimate defense, a system that just grows stronger when you attack it. But if Jarvis is an AI defense system, the script in the back of Q’s mind is an AI system geared for destruction. It could ruin even Jarvis. If he ever transferred it from his mind to machine then it would make sense for SHIELD to come after him. But he hasn’t, and he’s never spoken a word of it to anyone. So why?

Spoken a word to… he’d told Tony he is Q. M’s voice echoes in his mind. _Nobody outside of MI6 can know you are Q. Never appear before them again. Major repercussions. Our secrets. You told him. You told him our secrets._ The air around him thickens until the weight of it renders breathing impossible. His chest heaves but his lungs remain empty. Q curls around himself, but it doesn’t help. His hands clench the sheets and M’s voice won’t stop chanting. _I saved you and now you betray me. This is the price for sharing a secret._

“Q? Q, are you okay? Q!” Bond is screaming. Someone shakes him till his limbs rattle and he thinks he’ll come apart. Then there’s a voice, firm and familiar, and the shaking stops. A hand brushes his hair to the side and tilts his head upward. Alec.

“Shhh.” Alec commands. The voice in Q’s head disappears. His mind goes blank. “Breathe.” _Breathe, breathe, breathe._ The command echoes in the silence. Q gasps. Air. Oxygen. Safe.

“That’s it, pet. You back with us now? Okay?” Alec’s hand strokes his hair. “We’ll protect you. No need to have a panic attack. You know we’ll keep you safe, promise.”

Q shakes his head, his curls brushing Alec’s hand. “It’s my fault. I told Tony that I’m Q.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” Bond asks. “Either way, Stark’s mission is to kill you. It doesn’t matter if you told him, even if it was a stupid thing to do.” His eyes flicker between Alec and Q, as do Tony’s. Their expressions are unreadable. Alec must notice it too because he withdraws his hand.

Q looks up at Alec, pleading with his eyes. It’s all completely unprofessional but Alec’s touch is the only thing anchoring him right now. Alec sighs, but joins the three of them on the bed nonetheless, settling down behind Q and pulling him backwards so he’s snug against Alec’s chest. Q can practically feel Bond and Tony boring their way underneath his skin with how watchful their gazes are, but he needs this indulgence like an alcoholic does his drink. Q squirms and rearranges limbs until he’s completely comfortable. Only then does he reply, eyes closed and leaning against Alec for borrowed strength. 

“M, your M, she told me when I first became Quartermaster that I had to disappear. Most people fake their deaths, but for me it was more convenient for MI6 to make me just disappear. I had to cut off all ties and I couldn’t tell anyone who I was. Anyone who knew who I was could never see me again. She told me there’d be major repercussions if I did. I told Tony and this is the price.” 

“What? What do you mean most people fake their deaths? Repercussions? Q, you’re not making any sense.” Alec’s voice rumbles, the words rushing past his ears. Then, softer, so only he can hear, a whisper, “So you did know Stark before.” It’s less an accusation, more a hopeful, pained statement that’s pleading to be refuted. Q feels a pang go through him. He doesn’t deserve Alec’s hope. He nods the slightest bit and feels Alec tense behind him; the fingers playing with his hair become stiff in their movements then disappear. Q pretends he doesn’t feel Alec slipping away from him. He’ll apologize properly for lying later when Alec can properly punish and forgive him.

“Everyone in MI6 fakes their deaths. I’ve seen your death certificates.” It’s supposed to be a statement, but the insecure lilt in Q’s voice makes it come out more like a question.

“Nobody in MI6 has ever faked their death, aside from Bond. People who have family or friends on the outside are free to keep seeing them, so long as they lie about their jobs. The only reason we have death certificates is because MI6 underestimates us and tends to declare us dead a bit too early. Q, I think M lied to you.” Alec explains as gently as he can, but he’s no longer holding Q so it’s not gentle at all, not really. Q can hear the undercurrent message: you lied to me. The words send him reeling, plummeting. He reaches for Alec’s hand to try to make him understand, but it’s painfully awkward, like they’re strangers, so he lets go.

For now, he turns to Bond. After all, the man knew M better than anyone. “Why would M lie to me?” His voice sounds pathetically broken to his ears. Tony looks at him worriedly. Q pretends he doesn’t notice.

Bond’s jaw is clenched and he looks away the instant Q turns to him. His eyes are looking far away, probably at Skyfall. “I don’t know. She probably had her reasons. I’m sorry Q.”

“Why don’t you just ask her?” Tony asks.

Bond tenses and only after a long moment does he grit out, “She’s dead.”

“I’m sorry. Hey, do you think that maybe she saw this coming? Now that Q mentions it, it’s a pretty big coincidence. I mean his boss tells him to disappear for the sake of his safety and the moment I find him he’s in danger because of my boss.”

“There’s no such thing as coincidence,” Alec asserts. “The current M didn’t tell us the real reason Bond was assigned to Q today. He either knows something or was suspicious about you. Now, the previous M definitely knew something about Q and that’s why she made him disappear. That same something is probably why SHIELD is after Q.” He talks as if Q isn’t there.

“Q?” Tony prompts.

“I don’t know! You think I wouldn’t have done something if I did?" Q knows he’s half screaming, his voice hoarse, but he can’t calm down. M had lied to him and he’d lost years with Tony, possibly Tony himself, because of it. Then he’d gone and lied to Alec and hurt him so badly that Q doesn’t know if a simple punishment will be able to fix things between them this time. And someone, a huge organization with plenty of power and people, wants him dead for some reason that he doesn’t even know. He doesn’t want this. He never asked for any of this. "I wish I knew why she lied to me and I wish she hadn’t and I wish this whole mess hadn't happened!” They're all staring at him with various degrees of surprise and pity. He starts to glare back, but stops himself when he sees the less obvious expressions on their faces. Tony looks dejectedly hurt, as if Q had just slapped him and told him Steve would never love him. Bond looks remorseful, as if the faults of a dead woman are his burden to bear. Alec looks like he wants to comfort Q but is terrified that Q will hurt him again. Q deflates instantly. He finds, to his horror, that his own eyes are damp.

"I'm sorry," Q whispers, ducking his head so they won't see. "I don't know what came over me. It won't happen again. Can we just call it a day?" He knows that the raspiness of his voice must make it obvious to them that he's crying.

"Ya, sure, of course. Just make sure to stay safe, okay?" Tony agrees.

Q's head is down so he can't see what's going on, but Bond and Alec must come to a silent agreement because he hears Bond leave the room. Alec places a hand on his shoulder and Q tries desperately not to lean into it. 

"Come on Q, I'll take you home," Alec promises. Those would be the best words Q has heard all day if not for the fact that Alec called him Q instead of pet. Alec has always affectionately called him pet, even before they'd become friends. Q nods and follows Alec, pretending he's not panicking. He can do it. After all, it's just one word. It was probably nothing. Alec will forgive him and things will go back to how they were. They have to. Right?


	13. The Things No One Else Sees

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alec and Q are more than lovers and less than something lasting.

Tony’s eyes linger on the door long after Q and his supposed bodyguards have left. That didn’t go anything like how he’d expected it to. He picks up his tablet and rings up Steve, who, of course, answers at the first ring.

“Tony? How’d it go? Was it him?” Steve asks in a rush before Tony can even say hi. Tony can see worry projected in his features.

“It was him, Steve. He works for MI6, but I don’t know what I’m going to do. He’s grown up and there’s this two year gap between us. I wish you were here. He’s taller than me now and he has this presence that just makes you want to make him yours, kind of like you do. He’s still a trickster and as wary as a stray though. He’s ridiculously cute and precious and I hurt him, Steve. At first I had to pretend I didn’t know him and then, he just…he looked so devastated that I almost dropped to my knees and begged for forgiveness. What if he was better off never seeing me again?”

“Did he look happy when you told him the truth?”

“I think so. He looked more surprised and confused than anything. Though, I don’t think he’s opposed to the idea of being with us, just hesitant and a little self-doubting. We fooled around a bit. He said it was to mess with his bodyguards but god, he responded so beautifully you should have seen him Steve. You’d want to make him yours in an instant. It’s almost feels like you can capture him with a kiss the way he melts into you. He’s so pliant and needy and looks at you like you’re the most amazing thing in the world and –“

“Tony, that’s because you are. Now, as much as I’m enjoying this, if you don’t change the subject I’m going to order you to get your ass, as well as his, back here right now, screw the consequences.” Steve’s voice is hard and commanding, like when he’s Captain America. Tony can’t help but shiver a little. He loves Steve’s Captain America voice almost as much as he likes the whole supersoldier serum-powered sex drive thing.

“That reminds me, one of his supposed bodyguards delivered a bag of ridiculous sex toys and told me they were from you.” Tony spins the tablet around so Steve can see the garish pile on the bed. “I’m not sure if I should thank you or sign you up for counseling.”

Tony turns the tablet back around to watch Steve turn bright red. He looks absolutely mortified. He really shouldn’t, with all the things the two of them have managed to get up to, but that’s part of Steve’s charm. “Er, uh…those are interesting. Why did his bodyguard do that?”

“I think he’s Q’s lover and wanted me to back off or something. Weird way of doing it, but I guess seeing those is a bit of a boner kill. Sleipnir’s name is Q now. His fake fake name is David Cox. He changed his name because his boss lied to him, told him that everyone in MI6 fakes their deaths or just plain disappears off the face of the earth and that everything from his past had to go. He was told that there’d be consequences if he ever talked to someone from his past. He thought that SHIELD coming after him was his fault because he told me he’s Q. He was so upset he had a panic attack. He’s never had those before. I think the past two years have been rough.”

“What? Is he okay? How bad was it?”

“His lover got him through it. I couldn’t do anything.” Tony knows he sounds like he’s bitter, but sitting next to Q and being absolutely helpless to save him had been horrible.

“Wait, his lover was there when you told him about SHIELD?”

“Should I not have done that? They both looked like they really cared about him and were plenty dangerous, in a useful way. One of them seems like a possessive bastard, I don’t know how he deals with sharing. What if I messed up? What if they’re actually bad to Q?” Tony can’t manage to say the word abuse. “Q said he has rope marks on his wrist and didn’t want me to find out because he thought I’d get the wrong idea and I thought he meant he was into bondage, but what if…?” He trails off, unable to finish the sentence.

“Tony,” Steve says gently. “Did he mention anything like that when the two of you were alone? Did he seem unhappy?”

“No, but what if he didn’t trust me enough? I haven’t done anything to earn his trust. Two years ago he thought he couldn’t come to me for help. I didn’t give him any reason to. He didn’t seem happy, but what if that was just because of me? What if he wishes I hadn’t showed up? His lovers are gorgeous Steve, like half as handsome as you are.”

“Tony. Stop doubting yourself. If he instigated something with you then he probably wants you. Even if he is a trickster I doubt he’d mess with you if his lovers would get mad. Have you considered that maybe they’re not his lovers?”

Tony gapes, dumbfounded. He hadn’t even thought that might be the case. After all, who wouldn’t want Q? Also, the first “bodyguard” he’d met had obviously been pissed when Tony had flirted with Q and the second was very familiar with him.

“Thought so.” Steve smiles. “Why don’t you just tell me everything that happened?”

“Sure! So…”

\-------

It’s a little known fact, but for all that Q is the Quartermaster of MI6, the most dangerous hacker MI6 knows of, and the only genius boffin who has the guts to stand up to licensed killers and lives to do it another day, he’s just a child. Most of his thoughts are naively simplistic and as easy to follow as his commands. He’s childishly curious, starved for affection and affirmation, hesitant for fear of being reprimanded, and sometimes oblivious to the simplest of facts. He lacks things like common sense and a sense of propriety. Sometimes Q’s sharp words cut people, but he doesn’t do it deliberately; he just doesn’t know better than to say them or realize the damage they’ll do, as if he never got used to human interaction because he spent all his time with machines. Now that Alec knows better he suspects the way he speaks is actually because his main human interaction was with Tony Stark.

The fact that Q is really but a child is one that only Alec knows. Only Alec gets to see this side of Q. He treasures the knowledge, savors the warmth he gets from knowing that Q trusts him, a broken man and assassin, with his most vulnerable side. The Q that Alec gets to see isn’t the man who wins verbal spars with people – killers who have either seen hell and shot it in the face or crawled out of it – without blinking an eye or even becoming a bit perturbed. The Q that only Alec sees is soft and wanting, worries and becomes depressed merely if Alec doesn’t pat his head or kiss his forehead affectionately.

The stern, confident, and reliable man that everybody knows and looks up to is Q; just Q, just a letter meant to serve MI6, not a real being. The silly pet that Alec lavishes with care is who Q really is, and he's gradually disappearing under the pressure of his letter. MI6 is a slow poison and it's killing Q as a person; Alec has seen the damage with his own eyes and patched it up with his own hands. Sometimes Q comes to him late at night, screaming, throwing tantrums and in need of a firm hand so that he doesn’t destroy something he can’t repair. Those nights, Alec hears terrible things and ends up covered in scratches. (He’s long ago gotten rid of any breakable, potential projectiles.) Other times Q comes to him wordless, kneeling on the ground waiting to be hand fed, cuddling up to him, and falling asleep in his arms like a spoiled pet while Alec showers him with warmth and tenderness. (Before Q, Alec hadn’t even known he was capable of such things.) Most of the time though, Q comes to him with dull eyes and a silent plea for something that Alec could never give him and it makes both of them so miserable that they have to distract themselves; Alec with sex, Q with pain. (Always simultaneously. The two go hand in hand for them. Alec can’t bear to give Q pain that isn't ultimately pleasurable and Q likes passion so fervent it makes him ache.)

It’s always on Q’s terms. That’s perhaps the only power Q has in their relationship, wherein he’s so vulnerable. Though, you’d never know it with the way Q acts. Sometimes it’s hard to tell who the master is and who the pet is when Alec spoils Q as much as he does. Alec can’t help himself. He suspects Q was never spoiled growing up. Or allowed to be a child, for that matter.

Alec has never minded the burden of taking care of Q when he’s at his most delicate. It makes him feel whole, human, to be trusted with something so delicately precious, to be Q's one sure thing. It's what always brought him home. But now Q won’t be his alone much longer. Soon, Q won't need him. Alec had always known the day would come, but he didn’t think it’d be like this. Not this soon. Not with Q’s armor breaking in front of James and Stark, not with Alec unable to comfort him because he was too afraid that Q didn’t trust or want him anymore.

Then again, it was never him that Q truly wanted, even if Q himself didn't realize it. Alec had always known that Q wasn’t his to have and that Q was never truly his alone. He doesn't want to punish Q then let him go and pretend this all never happened. He wants to savor the last few moments. He wants to hold Q, kiss him, and make love to him for no other reason than the acts themselves. He wants to show Q how much he means, how much he wishes Q was his one sure thing. He'll never admit it, solely for Q's sake, but he needs Q. More than he thought he ever could. More than anyone would believe.

It’s a little known fact, but for all that they’re not lovers, Alec loves Q.

He's not _in_ love, but it’s a close thing.


	14. Formally Q, But Not To You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iron Man likes Alec as Alec likes Stark. All in all, they're the same: possessive and overprotective.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm working on a new fic, wherein Q is an Omega and his Alpha is, you guessed it, Tony Stark, so updates for this fic are going to be slower for a while. Sorry!

The ride is silent and Alec drives slowly as opposed to his usual reckless pace. Q only knows this because his seatbelt doesn’t cut into him at every turn and stop. Q gazes out the window, not really seeing anything. He can’t bring himself to look at Alec. He can’t bring himself to speak. He is a coward, afraid that something has inexplicably changed between them, something that can’t be undone and that will undo them. Though Alec is a mere arm’s length away he feels terrifyingly far, as if Q doesn’t know this man from his scars down to his every heartbeat. This isn’t the Alec Q knows. Q wonders if he ever truly knew Alec.

Perhaps Alec had fooled him, for Q’s own, selfish, sake. The thought doesn’t sit right with him and he shakes it away before it can leave him shaken. 

“Q? We’re here,” Alec announces. 

Q jumps in surprise, only his seat belt keeping him from hitting his head on the ceiling. He shakes his head in an effort to gather himself. Then he looks outside and he feels as if a wind has just blown through him, sweeping away with it thoughts and nerve endings.

“This is my apartment.” Q utters. It’s a question as much as it is a statement. Never once has Alec been to his apartment. Q always goes to Alec’s. He doesn’t know what this means and it’s terrifying. He wants to go back three days, to when he was in Alec’s bed and knew everything was as perfect as it ever got. 

“Yes, I did tell you I was going to take you home.” Oh, that makes sense then. Still, the worry lingers.

“Would you like to come in for a cuppa?” It’s a formality, one out of place at that. Either way Alec would be staying, to protect him ( _like he always does, orders or no orders; enemy or no enemy_ ).

“Sure.”

Q moves slowly, as if that will keep time from moving forward. He almost times out while disarming his security system. Once they’re inside he doesn’t go to the kitchen to brew them tea, no, he grabs Alecs hand and pulls him towards the bedroom. Alec allows himself to be dragged and once they’re inside Q’s sanctuary Q turns and flings himself around Alec, burying his face in the crook of Alec’s neck. He inhales, trying to burn Alec’s maple and smoke scent into his memory. 

\-------

Q’s room is everything and nothing like Alec expected. There are no windows, only a giant skylight in the middle of the ceiling. The air smells of subtle sweetness, the way Q does. The room is small, the giant bed sitting in the corner occupying most of the space. The bed looks more like a nest for a human-sized bird than anything. It’s a giant mass of white, woven blankets that are probably ridiculously soft to the touch. Alec doesn’t even know if there’s a pillow in the mess. In the middle of the nest, almost camouflaged, is a cute, stuffed snow-white ferret curled atop a laptop. A white shirt that looks suspiciously like the one Alec has been missing is half covering it. The sight is ridiculously adorable.

Alec feels a pang of unadulterated affection run through him at the knowledge that Q is sharing this with him. Unlike the rest of the apartment, Q's room looks lived in. This room is probably where he spends all his time when he’s not in Q branch or with Alec. 

He knows that he shouldn’t, that he should be making a clean break with Q and putting a stop to all this, but he can’t help but to kiss Q on the forehead. Alec leans back against the door and closes his eyes, savoring the moment, the feel of Q in his arms.

Then Q bites him unnecessarily hard on the neck.

“Ow, what the heck was that for Q?” 

“What was what for?” Q asks, looking completely innocent.

“You bit me!” Alec glares at Q. The whole innocent puppy eyes act isn’t going to work on him. 

“What? I didn’t?”

A furry white head pops out from behind Q’s head. It looks a lot like…Alec sneaks a glance at the bed and sure enough, the ferret that he’d thought was stuffed is gone. It chitters at him. It’s mocking him.

“You have a ferret?” Alec asks, pointing the furry beast that he no longer thinks is cute. The bugger bit him. “Huh, everyone always thought you had a cat.”

“Oh, well it was easier to let everyone believe that,” Q says, reaching behind him to pick the beast up. “Alec, meet Iron Man. Iron Man, meet Alec.” Q thrusts the ferret at Alec. “She was a drunken gift. I didn’t name her. Oh ya, she bites.”

“I kind of figured that one out. Stark?” He cautiously sticks out a hand to pet the ferret to appease Q. To his surprise she sticks out a paw and places it in his hand. So she does have some manners. As if sensing his thoughts, Iron Man leans forward and bites his finger just to prove him wrong. Alec pulls his hand back and resists the urge to strangle the fuzzy thing. Q seems to be attached to it, judging by the way he’s petting it and causing it to dook madly. 

“I think she likes you,” Q states. Alec looks at him like he’s crazy.

“I’m not sure I return the sentiment.” 

Q pouts but opens the door and shoos her out anyways. She glares at Alec, but leaves grudgingly. Not even thirty seconds later Alec hears alarming clanking sounds. 

“She’s just getting something to eat. No need for alarm. And yes, she was a gift from Stark. I suppose I should start at the beginning. I owe you that much, at least.” Q is being formal and Alec hates it. This is Q the letter, not Q the person. Just a minute ago he’d been completely at ease and now he’s tense again. 

“Then let’s at least make ourselves comfy, shall we?” He suggests, gesturing to the bed. Hopefully being in his comfort zone will make Q relax. “You make room for the both of us; I’ll go to your kitchen and get us something to drink. What would you like?” 

“Hot chocolate please. Everything is in the cabinet above the stove. There’s food in the fridge if you’re hungry. If Iron Man bothers you, well, there’s no stopping her.” 

Everything is where Q said it would be. Alec makes two cups, throwing in some marshmallows. The ferret chitters away at him in between the bites of food that it’s getting from a contraption that Q undoubtedly made for it. As he’s leaving the kitchen he pelts it with a marshmallow he had saved solely for this purpose and chuckles when it squeaks in what he imagines is indignant rage. Then he realizes she might try to eat it and he has no idea if marshmallows are bad for ferrets; he’d rather not anger Q by killing his pet. He bends down and snatches it away from her before she can eat it, earning another angry squeak. 

By the time the marshmallow is properly disposed of and Alec is back in Q’s room, Q is nestled under the mass of blankets and typing away at his laptop. Q sets aside the laptop and Alec hands him a mug. He can’t help but notice that Q has changed into the shirt ( _Alec's shirt_ ) that had been lying on the bed earlier. It awakens a primal, possessive part of Alec and Alec has to wrestle with himself to keep from pouncing on Q and forgetting all about Tony Stark and SHIELD. 

Q doesn’t help, the flirt. He smiles coquettishly and says, “You should probably dress down. For the sake of getting comfortable, of course. I’d offer you pajamas, but I’ve got nothing in your size.” Alec can’t help but smile at the nerve of his pet; Q very well knows he has something in Alec’s size and he’s wearing it. It seems like the pet wants to play.

Alec is happy to oblige. Who is he to deny his pet some fun? After all, it's not very often that Q gets like this, grinning and seemingly carefree. At least Alec hopes that Q is carefree, that he's forgotten about the pressures of the outside world for now. Alec has, too caught up in Q. “Is that so?" He replies, fingers play with the hem of his shirt. Q's eyes follow every movement. "That’s a shame. You’re a smart pet, what should I do?” 

“Whatever you’d like to, sir.”


	15. What Comes is Better Than What Came Before

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Letting go is the hardest part. Q tells Alec his story, from the very start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the slow update, I've been working on "Read All About It," which has taken priority over this fic.

For perhaps the first time ever and definitely the last, their love is slow, sweet, and gentle. His pet's game devolves into a competition of who can push the other’s buttons better. They whisper secrets of each other’s bodies to each other, secrets that only the two of them know, listing every little thing. They accuse each other of cheating and distracting and eventually end up demonstrating to each other exactly how right they are in their efforts to prove who the true winner is. (They both are.) They laugh until their eyes water and their sides hurt when it further devolves into a wrestling match/tickling war. (Alec wins.) It’s the most natural, innocent, and ethereal thing Alec has ever experienced. There’s no pain, no punishment, just them. They leave no marks on each other’s skin. It won't last.

When it’s over Alec kisses Q’s forehead before getting up and gathering some towels to clean him up. A shower would be preferable, but they’re both to lazy and boneless in their satiated states. Once they’re both clean Alec rearranges the blankets then wraps an arm around his pet. Q looks at him with so much tenderness and gratitude that Alec almost can’t bring himself to speak. Almost. But he has to.

“Tell me about Stark.”

His pet looks at him, all sleepy eyes and bird nest’s hair. He places himself in Alec’s arms like Alec is his tree, the shelter he has always flown back to. But it won’t stay that way, not much longer.

“I was an orphan. Well, I still am. Before that, I had a mother. She never told me who my father was. She says she didn’t know. Not because she slept around, no, she’d loved him with her whole being. He’d been her first love, first everything. She’d had me at eighteen. She was so beautiful; I’ve often wondered what sort of man could ever capture someone so extraordinary. She used to tell me my father wasn’t a man, but a myth, that sometimes she wondered if she’d dreamed the whole thing, but only had to look at me to know it was reality. Apparently, I don’t look like him much, but I have his eyes.” His eyes shine with love as he talks of her.

My mother was almost ordinary aside from her beauty. She was kind and whimsical, though, and her eyes never looked at the earth. She didn’t understand me at all, but she tried. Gave me all the books and tech I could ever want. Thinking back, I don’t know how she got the money for everything. She worked an ordinary job as a secretary. When I turned ten she decided I should see more of the world. We went to Italy, Australia, Brazil, Hawaii, and more, in no certain order. I think she was searching for something, perhaps my father. Eventually we ran out of money and had to return home. It was the flight home that killed her. It was a large, commercial flight. Somehow I was the only survivor.” 

“I’m sorry pet,” Alec whispers. 

“Thank you Alec.” Q snuggles closer to his Alec. “My mother’s family wanted nothing to do with me. I went into the system. I learned that are a lot of bastards out in London who get their jollies off ragging on kids. I got tired of it after a year and a half and ran away, decided I’d try to find my father. Somehow, my twelve-year old self decided that I’d find the answers in Tony Stark’s folders. I don’t know why. Anyways, I tried to hack into his systems. He, of course, found out. He video chatted with me for a bit, told me to carry on. He made tests for me. I forgot all about finding my father, cause what nerdy preteen needs a dad when he can have Tony Stark’s attention? He reminded me of my mother, eccentric and good down to his bones.

After that day, he kept tabs on me. Made sure I was okay, saved me when I messed up." Q's eyes are unfocused, replaying scenes from the past. "You see that wallet on my desk over there?” he asks.

Alec doesn’t know where this is going, but he nods. “Yeah, why?”

“It’s Bond’s. Figured that while I’m fessing up I might as well confess that I pick pocketed him a long time ago.”

Alec’s jaw drops. “You’re having me on pet. You’re good, but you’re not that good.” He pauses and looks at Q with questioning eyes. “Are you?”

“Go ahead and take a look at it if you want.” Q challenges.

“Ha, you know I wouldn’t leave this bed for anything short of a terrorist attack right now,” Alec counters, but he believes Q. “Too comfy.” Alec lightly butts Q’s head with his nose to prove his point.

“Good. If you’d said anything less I’d be worried I did something wrong. Bond didn’t realize that I’d pickpocketed him so much as that he realized that the weight of his wallet had disappeared. For such a brute he’s surprisingly hyperaware. Luckily, by time time he noticed I had a head start. I hadn’t known he was MI6 until I opened the wallet. He chased after me and I bolted. Bond would’ve had my head if Tony hadn’t been watching and intervened. He locked up London’s traffic grid at the perfect time to cut Bond off. When I started working at MI6 I thought he’d be retired. Heck, I saw his death certificate. Imagine my surprise when I met him. He didn’t seem to remember me though. Kind of disappointing, really.

Tony taught me how to hack into bank accounts. He taught me a lot of things, showed me tech I couldn’t have ever dreamed of. The man is a bloody genius. Whenever I wanted to contact him I’d just trip some alarm in his systems and he’d always be there. Growing up, he was the closest thing to a friend, or father, that I had. I celebrated every birthday with him. Of course, when I was done growing I didn’t exactly look at him as a father figure.”

Alec smirks. Yeah, he’d sort of seen that one coming. “You realize you mentally desecrated an American hero, right?”

“It was mutual, thank you very much. At least it was at the end. I hope,” Q huffs back. “Anyways, he’d always been there to help me with code, engineering, anything, really. Although, towards the end I stopped needing his help when it came to hacking into things. One day I hacked into his systems and managed to have access to everything, without him knowing. Of course, he’s still better than me at everything else.

But I could get into almost anything anywhere, anytime. For the most part I kept my actions moral, usually just siphoning money off of criminals’ bank accounts. The Italian Mafia put out a hit for me after I stole ten million. That wasn’t scary though, I _danced_ around everyone they sent after me. They named me Loki.” Alec grins at this. Atta boy.

“Then, one day, someone broke into my flat, and took all my tech, including my security system. It was horrifying. I didn’t know who took it, but there was enough on my laptops to get me sentenced to death or tortured if whoever stole it managed to get through the defenses on it. Not many people could, but there’s still a handful. My expertise lies in hacking, not defense systems. The two should go hand in hand, but strangely they don’t for me.”

Alec feels a bubble of suspicion bubble up in him. But surely, no…Alec thinks back. _Shit._

“Luckily I managed to get a new computer and hack into my laptops and phones before they could get into them, but I was terrified out of my wits for a few days. I spent them imagining all of the terrible things that could happen to me, the things I would do to save myself from torture.

So I went to M. She told me to erase my past, to disappear. I called Tony one last time, didn’t tell him I was going to disappear. I had him delete everything that happened between us on his servers and in exchange I ended up with Iron Man. I could say I lost my whole world, but all I lost was Tony Stark.” 

“Q. I think…I… Did your flat, did it have a giant Iron Man poster in it? A bed a bit like this one but smaller, less blankets at that time?” Alec asks. The sinking feeling in his stomach tells him he already knows the answer to the question.

“Yes, but how did…” Q trails off then looks up at Alec, eyes heartbreakingly sad. “No,” he whispers. “Shit.” Alec strokes his waist soothingly.

“M sent James and I to a flat one day out of the blue, told us to take all the tech. She didn’t tell us who or why, just that it was very important and not to screw up. The security system was a nightmare.” Alec hugs his pet tight. “It was so long ago I forgot about it until now. I’m sorry.” 

“You took my fucking toaster. It was just an innocent toaster. My coffeemaker too. My coffeemaker, you bastard,” Q accuses in lieu of actually talking about it. Alec accepts the deflection. His pet has had a long, dreadful day. But Alec will not stand to be accused of crimes he did not commit.

“That was James!” He protests. “I think he was mad after your light bulbs exploded on us. One of the shards ripped his new suit. So, now that the pleasantries are out of the way, no more dodging the subject. How was he?” Alec asks. 

“Huh?”

“Don’t play coy with me. I don’t care how good of a look it is on you. Stark. Those marks covering your body aren’t from me, you know.”

“I know you were half joking back at the hotel, but Steve Rogers really is his lover. He agreed to fool around to help me mess with Bond. I don’t think they like each other much. He’s sleeping with Captain America, the pinnacle of human perfection. Nothing real could ever happen between us, Alec.”

“I’m pretty sure he’s interested though, and that Steve would be too, if you gave him the chance. As much as Tony has a reputation, I don’t think he’s the type to cheat.”

“Now you’re the one defiling an American Icon. _Captain America_ in a threesome?” Q counters, but Alec can tell he’s mulling over the idea, hoping that Alec is right.

“You didn’t answer the question, pet,” Alec teases. That just confirms how Q feels about Stark, really. “You’re in love with him, always have been,” Alec states wistfully.

“Are you accusing me of you as using you as a substitute?” Q bristles, springing away from Alec’s. “I never did that! Not once, Alec I-“

“I know that pet,” Alec assures, cutting him off before Q can finish that sentence and make this harder for the both of them. He runs his finger along his pet’s cheek. “I wasn’t accusing you of anything, just stating a fact.” _You’re not mine to keep._

“Then why does it matter?” Q asks. Alec can see the hesitance in his pet’s eyes.

“You know why. This has to end Q. We’re not in love with each other, and we never deluded ourselves into believing that we were. You’re in love with Tony Stark, and I’m pretty sure he’s in love with you too. He’d be a fool not to be.” Alec whispers, steeling himself to look at Q, prepared to see devastation in his eyes. 

Q gets off the bed and begins to dress, back turned to Alec. “I know. Thank you Alec, for everything.” His tone is level and even. When he turns back around his face devoid of emotion. It’s even worse than seeing him crying because his pet is trying to be strong for him and he shouldn’t have to. Alec knows that Q will cry the second he’s left, because his pet is his pet, and always will be in a way, even if what he’s saying sounds more like ‘goodbye’ than ‘thank you.’

Alec grabs Q’s wrist, forcing the man to turn and look at him, see his sincerity. “You know I’ll always be here for you.”

“Of course. You underestimate my ability to take care of myself, but I’ll stop by every once in a while nonetheless. I wouldn’t want you to get lonely and die on me. Now, I suggest you get out of my bed and leave before I’m tempted to keep you. You look quite lovely lying there and, unlike you, I could go for another round.”

Alec nods and gets dressed. Q walks him to the door and Alec gives him one last hug, kisses him on the forehead one last time. He wants to hold on longer, but he can see Q’s resolve crumbling so he leaves. When the door closes behind him, he lingers, sitting on the floor next to Q’s door.

Sure enough, he hears the sound of Q sliding to the floor. There’s a series of ferret chirps as Q sniffles and hiccups. “I really loved him, you know. I probably always will,” he cries, voice drifting through the door. 

Against Alec’s will, he finds himself saying, “I love you too, poppet.” Realizing his error, he bolts before Q can open the door and ruin the both of them further. His eyes grow damp and the world turns blurry as he makes his way to the car so he watch over Q from afar.

He doesn’t cry, but it’s a close thing. 

It always is, with Q.


	16. Fighting With a Broken Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long break, I had some issues with figuring out where to go after the last chapter. I wanted the transition to be seamless.
> 
> So then I went and wrote, half proofread, and posted the thing in a seven hour time-span. Logic.

James sighs and hangs up his phone. M doesn’t know anything about his predecessor’s deal with Q. He’d only forced James to accompany Q because he’d been suspicious about Tony Stark’s presence, nothing more. He’d honestly thought that Stark had wanted to lure Q over to America. When Bond had asked why he’d chosen to send Q over and not someone else if he’d thought that M had replied, “Because Q is the best and we know that, but they don’t. It doesn’t matter if we’re allies; the stronger they think we are the better.” Bloody politics. M had been so focused on the politics of it all that he’d forgot about the spy games being played. M had been completely surprised when Bond had told him that Stark was actually sent to kill Q.

Then he’d promptly yelled at Bond, “What are you doing phoning me instead of protecting him then?” They’d had a lengthy conversation after that, eventually agreeing that Stark was likely telling the truth and to sit back and monitor the situation.

Bond shoots a quick text to Alec. _M doesn’t know anything. How’s Q?_

A minute later he receives a reply. _He's holding up. I’m monitoring his house, you keep digging._ Bond begins typing up a reply when his phone vibrates and a new message pops up. _Remember that apartment we broke into a few years ago? The one with the exploding light bulbs? That was Q’s._

Bond does remember. Out of nowhere M had called the two of them over to her office and told them to break into this small apartment in the suburbs. She’d addressed them personally, told them that nobody was to ever know about this mission. Which was a given, in their line of work, but when she’d handed them their guns instead of sending them to Q to get outfitted, their eyebrows had raised. She’d shooed them out before they could ask any questions.

The mission had been strange in more ways than one. Alec and Bond rarely worked together, due to their penchant for leaving a wave of destruction behind that. Not only that, but they went in dark, with nobody monitoring them. When they’d arrived at the apartment they’d scoffed, wondering if M was going senile in her old age. It’d been a nondescript, normal, flat with an unremarkable, normal, security system.

Until they’d stepped inside and everything had started exploding and raining sharp bits of metal and glass upon them. The whole mission had been a nightmare. Q branch had been completely unable to hack into the tech they’d retrieved and Bond’s brand new suit had been destroyed. Even so, M had nodded and congratulated them on a job well done when they’d handed in their AARs.

In hindsight, that should’ve tipped them off. If not that, then the fact that they’d gotten a shiny new Quartermaster a few months after breaking into a London apartment filled with excessive amounts of tech.

 _Anything else you’d like to share with the class?_ Bond texts Alec, although his question is more directed towards a dead woman than it is his friend.

 _Q is in love with Tony Stark._ Bond is surprised, even though he shouldn’t be at this point. But if Q is in love with Stark then why are he and Alec…

 _Are you holding up?_ Bond asks, wondering if he should go to Alec and bring a bar with him.

 _Just go give him the shovel talk for me,_ Alec replies and that’s answer enough, really.

Bond pockets his phone creeps back into Stark’s room in a minute, having never left the hotel grounds. Stark is talking to someone, presumably the owner of the head floating out of his tablet.

“Did you tell him about us?” The floating head asks. Bond guesses that it’s Steve Rogers.

“Ya, I told him we were together, but then he did this thing with his lips and I got distracted and I forgot to mention the part where –“

Bond steps into the room. “You forgot the mention what exactly?” Bond had originally planned on waiting until Stark hung up, but if Stark is playing games with Q then he doesn’t deserve the luxury of breathing long enough to finish that sentence.

Stark jumps about a foot in the air and places a hand over his heart. “Jesus Christ! Warn a guy will you? I have heart problems.”

The floating head turns to look at Bond. It’s mildly disconcerting. “Before you shoot my lover or have a coronary of your own, let me finish what Tony was saying. He, uh,” the head blushes, “We want Q to be a part of us.”

“Not like a part, part. Because that’d be creepy and I like my parts just fine and I like Steve’s part even more but, ya,” Tony interjects awkwardly and Steve’s blush darkens. Bond has seen blood in lighter shades than Steve’s face. “I wasn’t cheating or playing with Q, I promise. In case you haven’t noticed – if you haven’t then you’re a really really crappy spy and bodyguard, no offense – I kind of, more than kind of sort of, like Q. Like a lot.”

Bond, in no small feat of willpower, represses the urge to both hit his head against the wall and punch Tony. Why does everyone around him have to act like an awkward teenage boy with a crush? More importantly, “You realize that you’ve broken not one, but two of my closest friends' hearts?” Bond asks, glaring. (Not that Q considers him a friend, but they trust each other with their lives, so close enough.)

Tony’s raises an eyebrow. “Hey Steve, I’ll call you back later,” he says and the floating head disappear with the push of a button before it can protest.“ The shovel talk, really? You have no right to threaten me or call Q one of your closest friends.”

“Really? Why is that?” Bond asks, amused.

“You don’t even remember him.”

“What do you mean I don’t remember him? Are you crazy? Of course I remember –“

Tony cuts him off before he can finish protesting. “You were pickpocketed once. You chased the thief but never caught him. Due to a traffic jam I created.”

Bond stares at Tony like he’s grown a second head. How does Tony even know about that, let alone have a part in it, and what does that have to do with anything? Bond doesn’t question the likelihood of the Tony’s feat; he’s seen Q mess with traffic lights before, after all. If Q can do it then – Q.

Oh.

“Q was the thief."

“Give the man a prize,” Tony says sarcastically.

Suddenly everything pieces together. How had he not realized? The reason Q acted as if he already knew Bond, the reason Q doubted his skills at first, the reason Q gets uneasy when Bond gets too close to him. They’re not because Q has a crush on Bond, no. They’re because Q had remembered when Bond hadn’t. But that incident had been at least ten years ago.

“How long have you known Q?” Bond asks, surprise replaced with wary anger.

“A few hours. The person who became Q? I knew him for ten. Then he disappeared.” Ten years before Q became Q. Q is 24 now. Bond narrows his eyes. He opens his mouth to speak, but Tony Stark is faster. “Before you say something stupid that will embarrass both of us, I was just watching out for the kid. I didn’t look at him that way until after puberty, which, once again before you say anything, happened at the late age of nineteen for him.”

“If you were watching out for him, then why didn’t you stop us from breaking into his apartment? After all you stopped me from catching him all those years ago. Why did you let him get sucked into MI6?” Why didn’t he take Q off the streets, give him a home? Bond knows his rage is irrational, but Stark, Stark…the man makes him want to destroy everything in the vicinity. Bond is almost overwhelmed by the throbbing in his head, the adrenaline pumping through his veins, the itch under his skin, and the vicious twitches of his fingers: they all urge him to _hurt_. If Stark loves Q then why didn’t he _protect_? He acts so high and mighty when he hasn't done anything.

“Watching out for him, not watching him every moment! I didn’t even, wait, you broke into his apartment? When and why?” Stark hisses, looking half as outraged as Bond feels.

“We didn’t know it was his. It was the previous M’s orders. We didn’t know until today that it was his apartment. It was as little over two years ago, a few months before he became Q.” Bond replies, every word gritted out and tense. (Normally, he’s better than this; he never loses his cool, his aloof demeanor. He doesn’t know why he can’t calm this need.) He can't stop himself from screaming, “You’re supposed to protect the ones you love!” M, he had loved M, couldn’t protect her. He couldn’t protect Vesper either. “Shelter them.” He’d held her in his arms as she died.

He knows now, why he holds such vicious, spiraling, resentment towards Stark.

Bond curls his fingers and digs them into his palms until they tremble with the effort of it and his knuckles turn white. Slowly, the anger drains out of him and leaves him exhausted. Finally, voice calm, he says, “You make sure they know that they can trust you to help them. That he knows you love him back.”

Surprisingly, Stark goes deadly still, sadness flooding his features. In the span of a second, he ages ten years, the lines in his face filled with regret and grief. “I know that. I know I failed him, that I don’t deserve whatever he…” Stark stops midsentence, Bond’s words finally processing. “His love. I don’t deserve it, but that doesn’t mean I won’t try.” Stark’s eyes flick dead center and meet Bond’s. “During the past two years not once have I stopped searching for him. This time, I’ll be there for him. I’ll protect him; show him how much he means to me. I swear.” Stark swallows, Adam apple bobbing. “And if I can’t, Steve will. And you’ll be there too. And if not any of us, then your friend, his lover. A broken heart doesn’t stop someone from fighting. I mean, just look at me.” Stark makes a hesitant smile.

Bond gets the feeling that the last bit is supposed to be a joke, but it falls flat and hits home. “No, that it doesn’t,” he agrees solemnly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Tony was on the phone the whole last three chapters. The man likes to talk.


	17. Rebound

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT LIVES! Aka Sorry >:.  
> Please please please tell me if anything feels off. Behavior, grammar, anything.

Alec notices James’ approach. James isn’t as stealthy as he used to be, even under the cover of night. Or maybe Alec just knows him too well.

“What took you so long?” Alec asks as James slides into the car.

“Stark likes the sound of his own voice.” James hands him a bottle of vodka and Alec whistles. It’s Stoli Elit, and the Himalayan Edition at that. “Gave it to me as I left, said he thought we could use some.”

Alec is already uncorking the bottle with a knife. “You mean me. You’re watching over Q tonight while I sleep off a hangover.”

James looks like he wants to protest, but after giving Alec a quick once over he merely shrugs. “Fair enough. So, when were you going to tell me?”

Alec takes a swig from the bottle before answering, “Never. I mean, if you asked I wouldn’t have lied, but I didn’t have any reason to tell you. A true gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell.” He takes another shot, savoring the smooth burn that would’ve made his eyes water back when he was a twenty something. “We weren’t dating or lovers or anything of the sort; we were just…we just needed each other. Kind of like the way liquids need something to hold them or else they splash apart then evaporate. Or something like that, you know? Anyways, that’s all in the past now. He’s in love with Stark. Always has been.”

James gives him a long, leveling gaze. “You love him, don’t you?” James accuses.

“It doesn’t matter.” A quarter of the bottle is already gone. “You? You don’t look at him the way you do most people.”

“I don’t know. Apparently I knew him before he was Q, but forgot.”

“So, Stark told you. Q stole your wallet. He still has it on a desk in his bedroom, don't ask me why. His bedroom is his sanctuary though.”

“Ya, Stark told me a few things. We fucked up his life,” James says remorsefully. They’ve screwed up a lot of lives, cities even, the two of them, but most of them deserved it. The others were just unavoidable casualties. Q though, Q is different. 

“We did,” Alec agrees. “I wish I felt worse about it, but I can’t. After all, it’s the only reason he’s ours.”

“Except he isn’t,” James points out. Semantics. Alec hates semantics.

“No, he isn’t.”

“I still can’t believe M…” James shakes his head. After a moment of silence James’ face lights up mischievously. Alec inwardly groans, knowing where this is going. “Speaking of things I can’t believe,” James drawls, “That one time he came in with chafed wrists and said it was from abduction training, that was actually you, wasn’t it.” 

“Yes, but it really was from abduction training.” James grins knowingly and waggles his eyebrows. “You know, living vicariously doesn’t suit you, James,” Alec sighs, hoping to deter his friend.

James’ grin only grows wider. Alec takes another shot straight out of the bottle. It’s going to be a long night. 

He idly toys with the rim and wonders how Q is faring. 

\-------

When morning comes Q is loath to leave the comfort and (imagined) safety of his bed. He doesn’t have to, really. He hadn’t been lying to Bond when he’d told the agent that he could do more damage on his laptop sitting in his pajamas before his first cuppa than Bond could a year in the field. He can do everything from here. The only problem is that if he stays here Bond or Alec is going to come in eventually and, coward that he is, he’d rather not deal with that. 

Not that dealing with Tony after yesterday’s embarrassing debacle is much more appealing, but it’s Tony. Tony, who has known Q since he was no more than just a street wanderer, who used to know Q's every secret. Then again, he didn't have nearly as many secrets back then as he does now. Q traces the rope marks on his wrists and his heart aches for a moment. Yesterday felt too much like goodbye and Q doesn't understand why. He and Alec were always only friends. There was no reason for yesterday to have ever happened. Nothing has changed between the two of them, not really. He doesn't know why they made such a big deal out of nothing.

 _If it's nothing, then why am I scared to face him? Why do I feel like I've lost him?_ Q sighs and buries his face into a pillow. There's not much he can do about it now, not until he sorts things out with Tony.

Eventually, Iron Man bites him and chitters condescendingly until he's forced to drag himself out of his thoughts and out of bed. He has no idea why she does it – it’s not like she can’t get food and water herself. A cup of coffee and a morning routine later he realizes he has no clue what to wear. Normally he wouldn’t care, but this is Tony Stark, the guy he’s been half – maybe more than half – in love/obsession/hero worship with for most of his life. 

Q falls onto his bed and groans in defeat after having surveyed the sad mess that his wardrobe. It's official: he dresses like a bum. With the exception of his one clubbing outfit that makes him look like a callboy - an expensive callboy, but a callboy nonetheless – his entire wardrobe is designed for warmth and comfort, not fashion. Eventually, he settles on the least dejected looking clothes he owns; a plain white shirt that miraculously has no stains, a gray cardigan that’s only one size too big, and dark skinny jeans that Alec says looks good on his arse. Sure, he had accidentally ripped the jeans a bit a while back while working on a project involving retractable swords, but torn jeans are fashionable these days, aren’t they? Besides, it’s not the arse area that got destroyed and that’s what really matters. He thinks. Anyways, it’s not like Tony hasn’t seen him in worse. _Or less,_ his mind helpfully supplies.

He packs his bag, sparing Bond’s pen and wallet a spare glance. To think, a few days ago his biggest worry was that Bond was playing mind games with him. Q laughs at his own idiocy then slips out the side door of his apartment into an alleyway. He knows that James and Alex are watching him, but for all that they’re the deadliest MI6 agents and he is their Q, a strange little letter in MI6’s alphabet machine that spells out gadgets and code, he is still Sleipnir and Sleipnir had not been _given_ the pseudonym Loki, he had _stolen_ it and made it his own. The pseud isn't just for show. Q knows stealth and shadows just as well as they do, if not better. These alleyways may not be the ones he used to roam, but they welcome and hide him the same.

A small part of him is worried that this is a bad idea because he’s a wanted man, but if he can slip Bond and Alec, then surely he can slip SHIELD. Briefly, he wonders if the reason he first came to SHIELD's attention was because of his hacker name. After all, the _real_ Loki had done a number on New York some number of years ago. But that wouldn't explain why how he'd caught the former M's attention. Q mulls over it as he takes the tube, mindful of the CCTV. It’s impossible to avoid all of them so he uses his tablet to hack into the system and delete himself from the records as he goes along. 

It’s only when he arrives at the door to Tony’s suite that he hesitates. Then he remembers that Tony probably hacked into the hotel’s cameras and if he doesn’t want to look like an idiot he has knock within the next ten or so seconds. The door opens a second before he knocks so he ends up knocking Tony instead of the door. Q startles backwards and ducks his head to hide the fact that he’s blushing like a blasted schoolgirl. He completely forgets why he came and what he'd planned to say. He wrings his hands, realizes he’s wringing his hands, and quickly stuffs them into his pockets. “Sorry. I probably should have called ahead but I didn’t have your number and –“

“It’s fine,” Tony says, chuckling. “Come on in.” Tony steps aside and places a hand on the small of Q’s back as he walks in, gently ushering him inside and towards the couch. “Want anything to drink, eat? The room service here is great.” 

Q shakes his head, slipping his shoulder bag off and settling on the couch, tucking one leg underneath himself. Tony sets the bag on the table then sits so close their shoulders touch. Q suddenly realizes that he's taller than Tony. Growing up, Tony had always seemed impossibly larger than life, untouchable. It's an awkward realization and the knowledge makes him shrink into himself to right the imbalance. “I'm okay. Sorry about the other day." 

“What part of it?” Tony asks with a suggestive grin and a raised eyebrow. 

Q feels his face go up in flames and turns to stare at the floor so Tony doesn't notice. All coherent thought disappears. “Uh, um –“ he starts, only to stumble off when Tony leans forward, cups his jaw, and slowly tilts Q's head upwards until they're mere inches apart and Q can see himself reflected in Tony's irises. 

“Uh uh, no more hiding from me. I think you've done enough of that," Tony teases. Q is torn between shying from the intense, sincere gaze and staring back until he's memorized all of Tony's features. Objectively, he knows that he can't allow himself to get swept up by Tony's pace like this, but he can't help but lean forward and soak in the warmth of Tony's easy charm. (Objectivity got left at the door.) Tony's thumb traces the side of his lip and he parts them out of reflex. Tony's hands are riddled with callouses and feel rough against Q's skin. Q can't help but remember exactly how good Tony's hands felt against his skin yesterday and the memory makes him shiver a little and his heart beat far too quickly. He's still replaying the memory when Tony speaks again, voice deep and coaxing. "I enjoyed yesterday and you got to pull one over on your bodyguard boyfriends. Aside from getting assaulted and inducing you into a panic attack, I had fun. I don’t regret it at all. Do you, Q?"


	18. Unresolved

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been so long since I last updated. The mind wanders. It's literally been so long that I had to reread the whole story and it felt like I wasn't reading my own story. If you're still reading this, much love and apologies. (Especially for all the typos. When I was re-reading, I found a spot where I'd typed Bond as Bone -.-.)

Q wonders if he really has to answer that because hello, he had spread his legs and moaned like a two bit whore so it’s a little bit obvious that he had more than enjoyed it. He bites his lip at the memory and has to shake his head to bring himself back to focus. Tony doesn't help, running a finger across Q's bottom lip. “Boyfriends?” Q asks, confused.

“You know, tall, handsome, and grumpy and his slightly more humorous twin?” Tony elaborates, pulling back a little and releasing Q. "James and Alec?"

Oh. Q’s face lights up in a fierce blush that he knows for a fact Tony can feel the heat of, seeing how close the man is. “I’m not, uh, they’re not – James isn’t my boyfriend. He’s hardly even my friend. And Alec is…” Just a friend, but Q can’t bring himself to say that because Alec isn’t just a friend, or a convenient warm body. Alec is – was – the slicing of scar tissue, eyes always finding his own, Sunday morning wake-up kisses despite morning breath. He was teasing words traced into Q’s back, bruises that were tally marks of love, the soft turning of pages in the background that kept Q from losing himself in code. He’s just not more than a friend, not anymore, if ever. “Not a boyfriend. If he was I wouldn’t have done that, even if just for a prank.” Q regrets the words the moment he says them. “Not that I’m saying you and Steve – “ Q is cut off by a low a chuckle.

“I don’t remember you being this nervous. Not since the first time.” Tony grins teasingly and it takes Q a second to figure out what 'first time' Tony is talking about. Tony's hands are no longer on his face, but the engineer is still touching him, tracing little absentminded doodles on the backs of Q's hands and it's equally distracting. Q almost forgets that there's no way Tony could be referring to when Q first slept with Alec and that he has to be talking about the cafe. "And if I remember correctly, James used to be a friend."

Q tries to shrug nonchalantly. "So he taught me how to be a better pick pocket. Not a big deal."

Tony snorts. "Sorry to break it to you, but I don't think teaching you how to charm the pants off of someone is the same thing as picking a pocket. Although, both ended the same way for your targets."

If Tony was the one who had taught Q how to play and win at anything he could possibly hustle people at, then Bond was the one who had taught him how to leave with all limbs intact. The teachings had happened over the course of a week, Bond bringing food with him each time. By the end of it, Q had had a slight case of hero-worship. Then Bond had disappeared without a word and never showed up again. The next time Q saw him was at MI6 and the man hadn't even remembered him.

"Not true. One ends with an empty wallet while the other results in no wallet at all. Anyways, James doesn't know who I am."

"He does now," Tony says apologetically. "He came back to my room and we talked, well, yelled at each other for a while."

"What did he say?" Had James told Tony why he'd disappeared without a word, why he'd forgotten Q so easily?

Tony shakes his head. Q exhales the breath he'd been holding. Of course. Why would James say anything? Q's past is obviously unimportant to him. The only reason James cares about Q at all is because he needs his Quartermaster alive and mental. Well that, and Q is possibly someone he could seduce when he's stuck in London and bored. (Even that is just a recent development.) "Just accusations. Nothing I didn't deserve. Do you regret what happened yesterday?"

Only the part where he'd panicked and nearly gotten Tony killed and hurt Alec and pathetically cried. Other than that, it'd been good. Really good. Too bad he'll never get to kiss Tony again. Q shakes his head. "No. You, you're...you." Good. And not Q's. Nor Sleipnir's. Steve's.

Tony smiles at him like he has just discovered the cure for cancer. Except Q is pretty sure he is the cancer, his cells trying to slip into Tony's life where they don't belong.

"So, I talked to Steve and-" Tony is cut off by a sharp ringing noise. Tony curses and motions for Q to hide. Q quickly slips behind the curtains and tries to stop his heart from beating out of his chest. Who is it? Steve?

"Fury, to what do I owe this displeasure?"

Q glances at the reflection of the hologram in the window. Tony is talking to a man in a black leather coat. Said man is bald and wearing an eye patch. This is what Q had been afraid of? A space pirate? One named Fury of all things?

"The World Security Council wants an update on your mission," Fury replies, sounding about as happy as his name implies.

There's a World Security Council? What would they want with him? He works for MI6 and takes down terrorist organizations and mafias. He isn't about to go on a bender anytime soon. He's not Silva.

"The WSC? Is this really that big of a deal? So this guy is good. He still can't get past Jarvis." Q thinks of the code in the back of his mind. He could. He wouldn't ever, but he could. Maybe he could just destroy SHIELD? It doesn't seem like Tony likes SHIELD very much and Q certainly holds no love for them. Whoever "they" are. He pulls his phone out of his pocket and starts tapping away. 

"Stark, an update."

"Your suspicions are right. The hacker is British government. Not a threat. Also, some of your intel was wrong. Not all of that work is the hacker's."

"There's a second one?"

"The traffic jam masterpiece of the queen and her royal corgis were my doing."

Q can't see Tony's expression, but he knows for a fact that the engineer is grinning. Fury is doing the opposite.

"So you've identified the hacker?"

Tony nods. "No name yet, but I know everything I need to know."

"Good, bring him in and file a report." Q pauses in his typing. Tony hadn't mentioned Q's gender. Was Fury using "he" out of habit or did the space pirate know more than he was letting on?

"I just told you the hacker is a non-threat," Tony protests.

"It doesn't matter. You need to bring the hacker in ASAP and by ASAP I mean now."

"You want me to kidnap a high ranking British government official. I don't think the British would appreciate that or just let it go."

"They've let go colonies. They'll get over it." 

"There's something that you're not telling me. Which really isn't a surprise because there's always something important that you're not telling me, but this is even fishier than usual. What's with the rush?"

"The Avengers need to assemble soon and I don't want any loose ends that could bite us in the back," Fury replies somewhat reluctantly.

"Fury, what are we up against?" Tony asks, sounding a little worried. Q feels how Tony sounds. Not because of his situation, but because anything that involves all of the Avengers is huge. Aliens invading the Earth huge. MI6 has policies in place and is prepared, but they can only be so prepared when they don't know anything about their enemies.

"We have reason to believe that Loki is on Earth."'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to comment, chew me out for being slow, or point out any mistakes! I'm on tumblr at http://lilpeekc.tumblr.com/


	19. Suspicions and Magicians

Q stares at his phone in disbelief. There's no way he's seeing this. But there's no way he isn't.

"How long?" Tony demands, furious.

"We don't know," Fury concedes.

"How long have you had reason to believe that Loki on Earth and kept it a secret? Did you not think that for once, it might be nice to share with the class so we know what we're up against? Why is he here?"

Fury sighs. "We don't know. Natasha and Clint are aware. Just bring back the hacker. We'll talk then." Fury's holographic head disappears and Tony motions that it's safe to come out from the curtains. 

Q immediately darts for his computer, tossing his phone towards Tony's direction.

"What am I looking at? Q?"

"My mother. You're looking at my mum," Q replies, typing as fast as he can. He sends a quick message to Alec, another to M, and gets to work.

"I mean she's beautiful but...wait, are these SHIELD files? You hacked SHIELD on your phone?"

"Programs." None that were complex enough to open the classified files on his mum, but that's what he's working on now. "Why would SHIELD have files on my mother? And why can't I find any files pertaining to your mission on me?"

"SHIELD likes to keep some things on paper for security reasons," Tony answers. He sets a folder down to Q's right. Q flicks it open without pausing in his typing, his left hand flying across the keyboard while he flips pages with his right.

A smattering of his exploits over the years stare back at him, starting from even before he became Q. The folder doesn't have all of them, and not all of the crimes listed are his, but most of them are and it's a surprisingly comprehensive list. His only comfort is that there's no actual data on him. Sure, based on the political outcomes of the compiled activities, it isn't too far a stretch to guess that he's British and likely government, but if not for Tony they never would've guessed it was him.

"Since when do SHIELD's servers look like a connect-the-dots game gone wrong?" Tony asks, peeking over Q's shoulder and breaking him out of his thoughts. "Firewalls aren't supposed to look like actual walls, last time I checked."

"I have a program that translates the data into images. I find it easier and quicker to think this way. Of course, the program isn't perfect, which is why there are some strings of code flying about. By the way, the bombing in Bangladesh wasn't me." Q carefully works his way past a fail-secure and on the left side of his screen, a bundle of lines shrinks into a concise dot.

"Interesting. If you want, I could get Jarvis to do this, for the sake of expediency."

Q enters a few more lines of code and the remaining lines all shrink into little dots, which then rearrange themselves. New lines appear, creating an image of a door. "You were saying?" He begins downloading SHIELD's files.

He senses Tony shake his head as Q opens the folder named after his mother. "Nothing. Wait, hold on." Tony points at a sentence.

_Suspected affiliate of Loki._

Q scans the rest of the document, trying to make sense of it. _On the run...Deceased. One known "offspring"._ There are picture of him as a child, from when he was still in the system. "SHIELD agents make crappy foster parents," Q remarks. He doesn't know what else to say.

"I'm guessing this makes as much sense to you as it does me?"

Q nods. All the traveling he'd done in his childhood made sense now, but his mum would be the last person to ever fall in love with someone who'd murdered hundreds. Now that he thinks about it, she'd definitely be disappointed in him.

"Let me notify Bruce, Steve, and Thor about Loki and our situation and we'll come up with a plan to sort this out." Tony settles down at his own laptop across the table from Q.

"You could always take Bond to SHIELD and tell them that he's the hacker. I'm sure he'll have fun with the agents."

"You think he could fool them?"

"He uses every piece of tech he ever encounters as an expendable weapon, so maybe? I could always have him memorize a few lines to make him sound smart."

"Yeah? How good is his memory because I'm pretty sure you'd need more than a few lines to make him seem half intelligent."

Q smiles, even though he doesn't agree with Tony's unfair assessment of Bond's mental facilities. "I'm sure it's good enough when it comes to things that are important." I.e. not Q.

"Looks like we're going to need a different plan. Anyways, Bruce sent a message. He's feeling a bit suspicious as to why SHIELD has me out here if Loki really is on Midgard."

"Midgard?"

"Oh, Earth. The Asgardians - Thor and Loki and all their people - call it Midgard."

"Got it." Q can't find any current files on Loki, but there are a few old documents from the Battle of New York. "Last time Loki was on Earth it was because of a weapon that SHIELD was hiding. Maybe SHIELD sent you here to distract you? Not that I can find anything on their servers. I'm guessing they're keeping it on paper only. Anyways, I've got a program searching for any Loki sightings. If he's been seen be any camera or satellite we'll know."

"Wait, even mine?" Tony asks indignantly. "There's no bugs that can be exploited in any of my tech. Not even in the low end StarkPhones."

Q shrugs. "Sorry."

"So...do you ever look through people's pictures for fun?"

"How much time do you think I have on my hands?" Q asks.

"That's not a no." Tony waggles his eyebrows.

"I'm guessing that you have then. Which means you should well know that there were  way too many uh..." Q googles a way to say "dick pic" without sounding like an idiot. "Disturbing images"

"You mean dick pics? What's wrong with dick pics? You're not straight, are you? I wasn't getting that vibe from you, but I mean pranks are pranks and the Kinsey Scale exists for a reason."

"Nope, not straight." Q turns at the voice. Alec. "Why have pictures when you can have the real thing though? Our little Q is a prize. One who ditches his detail. How did you manage that anyways?" Alec hefts himself over the balcony, Bond following suit. Despite the climb, neither of them have a hair out of place. Though, Alec looks worse for the wear.

"A magician never reveals his secrets," Q replies, trying to keep his tone neutral.

"Speaking of magicians, I'm pretty sure that Loki can shapeshift so I'm not too sure searching for images of him won't help. It won't hurt, but..." Tony shrugs.

"So what do we have?" Bond asks. The agent has been staring at Q ever since he arrived. Q feels himself shrink a little from the intensity of Bond's gaze. He instinctively turns to Alec for help, then remembers last night and quickly averts his eyes. His computer. His computer is safe to look at.

"Right. Loki has probably been on Earth for an unknown period of time, SHIELD wants me ASAP, my mother apparently knew Loki, after I was orphaned I was raised by SHIELD agents until I ran away, and M ordered you two to break into my flat to scare me into joining MI6 and then tried to hide my existence. I think that about sums it up." There are a terrifying number of loose ends and what-ifs rattling around in Q's head. A few days ago he'd been living the daily grind, and now there's Asgardians and espionage everywhere. Not that the espionage is anything new, but usually he's on the other side.

"SHIELD might be hiding weapons of mass alien destruction or something else," Tony adds. "Their motive for sending me here is pretty suspect. Q, who else does SHIELD label as a suspected affiliate of Loki? That might help."

Q does a quick search of the files. "A few Asgardians: Thor, a sorceress names Amora, the Chitauri, etc. but no other humans. I don't remember my mother having many friends though. We lived in the countryside. I think I would've remembered him."

"Q, do you think...?" Alec prompts.

"Think what?"

Tony's phone beeps before Alec can answer.

"Hold on, it's Thor. He's at Jane's right now." Tony swipes at the screen. "Hey Thor, you get my message?"

"Man of Iron. I have something to confess." Thor's voice is loud and booming, his tone grave. Q rubs his temples. This can't be good news. "Loki has not been kept prisoner in Asgard. His punishment was banishment to Midgard, with neither memories nor magic. I do not think there is any reason for alarm at SHIELD's news."

"Do you know where he is?"

The god shakes his head. "Even without his memories or magic, my brother remains crafty and elusive. He escapes even Heimdall's sight. We think he may have planned for this banishment. At first we were concerned, but he doesn't have his magic and there hasn't been any chaos on Earth aside from that created from Midgardians. I think that maybe, he has found peace. My only fear is that it may not last, if SHIELD interferes. As for SHIELD's intentions towards your companion," Thor's gaze falls on Q for the first time since the call started and an unreadable expression runs across the god's face. "I will be there soon."


	20. Imagined

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to my awesome beta TriumphantDisaster who picked this fic up super quickly. I was banging my head against the wall for this chapter before ve swooped in and saved me :).

"Won't Thor coming here attract attention?" Q realizes right after Thor hangs up. It's a little hard to miss a giant man flying through the air, especially when he's wearing a bright red cape.

"Probably. Should I call him back?"

Q nods. A second later there’s a loud thud coming from the balcony. Before any of them can react, Q is bodily lifted out of his chair and squeezed half to death.

"I knew it was you brother!"

Q winces at the loud, booming voice so close to his ear. He can't see who it is because his head is pressed against a very well muscled chest, but he's guessing it's Thor.

"Thor? Please let go of me," Q rasps with as much dignity as he can manage. "Alec, Bond, get him off me."

"Thor, buddy, I think you're hurting him," Tony remarks. A second later, Q is released, his feet reuniting with the ground. He immediately takes a few steps back and checks his ribs for potential damage.

"Brother? Do I look like your brother to you? Do I look like a crazy sorcerer?" Q asks.

Thor stares at him pensively. "Only a little, but I would recognize your magic anywhere. Your eyes are also still the same."

"I thought Loki's magic was sealed," Alec comments. "How did you get here so quickly anyways?"

"I was accompanying Lady Jane on a trip. Aye, father sealed his magic, but just because it is sealed doesn't mean it isn't there."

Tony comes to Q's defense. "Thor, I hate to break it to you, but there's no way Q is Loki. I met Q a few months before Loki invaded."

"Your memories may have been fabricated by magic."

"Okay, magic, sure. But what about the SHIELD file on my mother?" Q points out.

"It could be one of SHIELD's tricks to prevent you from regaining your memory," Thor refutes.

It's like arguing with a brick wall. Q is pretty sure that no matter what logic says, Thor is going to continue believing that Q is Loki. It's infuriating.

"Yup, definitely Loki," Tony pipes up. Q turns to glare at his old mentor. Not him too? "Loki glares at him the exact same way."

"Thor, are you sure you're not just reading my magical aura or whatever wrong?" Q asks. He tries to imagine himself having magic. Nope, he doesn't feel anything.

Thor shakes his head. "There is no mistake. It seems SHIELD knows your identity, which is why they sent Tony here for you."

"It would also explain why the old M wanted you to play dead," Bond observes.

And why he survived a plane crash when everybody else died. "SHIELD might just be guessing that I'm Loki, like Thor. Nothing is definitive at this point. We'll need to plan according to several different variables. One: I'm Loki, or I'm not Loki, I'm a normal human, or I'm some magical something. Two: SHIELD knows I'm Loki, they think that I'm Loki, or their unknown hacker is just a hacker. Three: Loki isn't me and is somewhere on Earth with or without his memories. Four: Whether or not SHIELD has ulterior motives for-"

"Okay, we get it. We're going in blind. Well, actually, we can probably rule out unicorn for magical somethings," Bond interrupts. “Harpy, maybe.” Turning to Thor, he inquires, "If he really is Loki, do we want him to gain his memories and magic back?"

“More like an incubus,” Alec quips softly. Q blushes, hoping that Tony didn’t hear. Tony grins mischievously, loosening his tie and collar in a way that is unfairly attractive. If anyone is an incubus here, it’s probably him. Or maybe Bond. Not that anyone here would be an incubus because everyone here, aside from the Asgardian, is completely human.

“I do not know,” Thor confesses. 

Q just wants the speculation to be over with. Also, magic could be fun, useful even, if by some slim chance he does turn out to have it. A headache maybe. As for memories, Loki's head couldn't possibly be a fun place to be if the newsreels from the invasion of New York are any indication. Then again, his own head isn't a great place either. "Even if I'm not Loki, Thor thinks I have magic right? Though it might be sealed, if Thor can sense it, I should be able to sense it. If it turns out to be sealed then we'll know for sure. Why don't we start from there? Thor, you can teach me, right?"

Thor's face lights up like Q just handed him, well...his long lost brother. The way Thor is staring at him is actually getting pretty unnerving, almost as unnerving as watching him absentmindedly twirl his hammer. Q regrets his request already.

He regrets it even more a few minutes later when it becomes apparent that Thor has no idea how magic works. Q asks the god Asgardian how he calls thunder to him. 

"I just will it, and it erupts forth," Thor exclaims. Bond, Alec, and Tony all look up from the table where they're strategizing, brows cocked, furled, and waggling respectively. Q wants to die of embarrassment and he isn't even the one who'd said it. Thor, on the other hand, is completely unashamed.

So much for that. "What does my magic feel like to you then?" Q tries, feeling utterly ridiculous. He Googles "sorcery for beginners" on his phone, feeling none too hopeful about either of his inquiries. He hits "I'm feeling lucky," just for the hell of it. If it comes down to it and he gets really desperate, he can ask Tony to get Jarvis to compile some reading material.

"Slippery," Thor answers, looking thoughtful. "Dangerous."

Q holds back a sigh. Something more concrete than that would be helpful. He pictures himself as Loki, but he doesn't particularly feel like he's giving off any "dangerous" vibes. "Guys, do I seem dangerous?"

Bond chuckles. Tony is trying to keep a straight face and failing. 

“You’re a regular wolf in sheep’s clothing,” Bond assures. Q scowls.

"There you go. You're getting there," Tony encourages. "Maybe try to picture different ways you could hurt Thor? Google says that imagining and willing things to happen is very important to making magic happen."

Q closes his eyes imagines Thor's hammer flying up and hitting him in the face, but pauses when imaginary Thor flies through the window. "What if it actually happens?" As much as he dislikes Thor, he doesn't wish the Asgardian any actual harm.

"Eh, Thor will live." Tony waves a hand dismissively.

Q starts over again, trying to be more specific. _Thor loses his hold because the grip suddenly unravels, the leather wrap suddenly alive with kinetic energy._ He opens his eyes. Nothing.

An hour later, he feels no more magical or dangerous than he did before. Only foolish and annoyed. And Thor still hasn't looked away from him once. Q throws himself onto the sofa, smushing his face into a pillow. "I'm not your brother. Stop staring at me like that," he snaps, turning his head so the words aren't muffled.

Thor frowns.

"Go away. Go back to Jane. I can't concentrate with you and your hammer twirling and..." Q waves a hand at Thor's person. "Everything."

Q can feel Tony frown at him, sees it in the reflection off the TV screen. Right, Thor is Tony's friend. "No offense," Q adds on. He doesn't want Tony to be angry with him.

"Thor, I know you're excited about finding your brother, but you two didn't exactly depart on the best of terms and I don't think he's going to regain his memories today. Maybe it's best if you go back to Jane for now," Tony appeases.

"What if he has already remembered and this is one of his tricks?" Thor demands. Immediately, three suspicious gazes, in addition to Thor’s, turn toward him. He can feel the weight of them despite the sofa shielding him from their view. It brings back memories of his first few months of a runaway, before he’d learned how to become inconspicuous. Eyes had followed him everywhere: pitying, distrusting, damning. People hadn’t known whether to feel sorry for him, or fear for their wallets. 

"I told you before, I'm not Loki," Q says evenly, staring at their reflections on the TV. Still, their gazes are wary. Bond's suspicion is understandable, but even Alec and Tony? "I'm not Loki," Q repeats, curling in upon himself. Why do they believe Thor over him? Q has saved his agents' lives tens of times, proven himself trustworthy. He’d shared almost everything with Alec. And Tony, Tony isn't his, but he's at least supposed to always be on his side. Not Thor's.

Q _loathes_ the Asgardian. 

"We don't think you're tricking us or that you want to hurt us, but Thor's right. We have to take precautions in case something happens, like your magic suddenly working," Bond lies. Lies without a hitch in his voice, like he often does to his targets. Q knows. Q has listened to hundreds of them, right before Bond inevitably betrayed whomever he'd fed the honeyed words.

But Q, Q would be special. Most people only get betrayed by Bond once.

Q springs off the couch, whirls to face the assassin. "What magic? The magic I've been trying to find for the past hour to no avail because it doesn't exist? I'm human. I've always been human. I have the scars to prove it. Would you like to see my back? Would you like to ask Tony how malnourished I used to be? Would you like a bloody DNA sample? Maybe you could drain this so called magic out of me, since you obviously don't believe me." His chest heaves from the effort it takes to punch out the words.

There is nothing he can do that would make them believe him. They'd rather believe Thor's charming smile and outlandish ideas. Q looks at Alec, pleading with his eyes for his friend to understand.

Alec looks away and Q feels sick.

"Q." It's Tony, his hands held up placatingly. If he was wearing his Iron Man suit, his repulsors would be pointed straight at Q. "Q, we believe you. We know you’re not Loki. We just want you be safe. Thor is going to go home now and we’ll order some room service for lunch. Sound good?”

For once, Q isn’t particularly hungry, but he doesn’t really have any options. Even if he refuses, it’s not like he can leave them. Well, he could, and they’d never find him, but that’d be pointless. Not to mention suspicious. “Right, sorry about the outburst. Didn’t sleep well last night. Anyways, I was serious about the DNA samples. We should probably do blood samples too,” he says, trying to infuse sincerity into his words. “Thor can donate so we have something to compare against. Then we can move on and have one less thing to worry about.” Q crosses the room and peers over Stark’s shoulder. “So, what’s the plan you guys came up with? Also, don’t skimp on the dessert.”

In his peripheral vision, he sees Stark flash a quick hand signal at Thor under the guise of reaching into his pants for his phone. Q panics for a second, prepared for the worst, but less than a minute later, Thor is leaving, albeit reluctantly. He internally sighs in relief, glad for the respite from the Asgardian’s unwavering surveillance. He closes his eyes and stretches his arms above his head, feeling some of the tension leave his shoulders. When he opens them again, he finds Bond’s calculating gaze fixed on him. 

Just like that, the tension is back.


	21. Turbulence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to TriumphantDisaster, who, as always, held my hand, beta'd, and listening to my whinging.

Q stabs his fork into the table. “No. Absolutely not.” Q is not going on a plane. Especially not with Bond. 

“Do you have a better plan?” Bond drawls. The bastard knows that Q doesn’t. Then again, if anyone here is a bastard child, it’s looking like it would be Q. “Thought so.”

“Don’t worry,” Stark reassures. “I designed the plane myself. Which means there’s plenty of alcohol to inebriate yourself with.” Tony pauses, his eyebrows scrunching. “Huh. If you’re really Asgardian there’s no way you’d get drunk off of a single bottle of vodka, even if it was your first time drinking, sort of. Unless that’s more a Thor thing than an Asgardian thing. Then again it could just be because Odin made you essentially mortal?” 

Q shrugs. They haven’t tested his blood yet. They don’t have the equipment to do that in a hotel room. Q had suggested that they split up, two of them head back to MI6 to do it, but his idea was shot down, as consensus was that someone in MI6 might be SHIELD. They’ll do the tests once they’re at Avengers tower. “They” meaning Q and Bond. Tony is taking Alec in to SHIELD, under the guise that Alec is the hacker Tony was sent to find. Q would prefer to travel with Alec, as potentially awkward and depressing as that might be, but Alec knows more about tech than Bond as a result of spending so much time with Q.

So, two hours later, Q is on a private jet with Bond. No pilots, no stewardesses, just them. Tony has taken autopilot to a whole new meaning. At least there’s no chance of human error. Or witnesses if he kills Bond, who is glancing at him with pity. It’s even worse than when the agent had been glaring at him suspiciously. “Bond, stop looking at me like that.”

“We haven’t even taken off yet and you look like you’re about to puke. Are you sure you don’t want to sleep through it?”

Q would love to sleep through the flight. Except, he has trouble sleeping when he doesn’t have anything to...cuddle with, for a lack of a better phrase. It’s a product of his childhood. He’d always clutched his bag to his chest whilst sleeping so no one could steal it. These days, he has a nest of blankets in his bed, as those are much more comfortable and easily explained. Not that anyone is ever allowed inside of his home, excepting Alec that one time. Since they came straight from the hotel to the jet - thank god Q made Iron Man an automatic feeder and she’s bright enough to survive on her own - all Q has is his tech and he’s not going to explain to Bond that he’s hugging his laptop bag because it helps him sleep. Bond has seen Q vulnerable more than enough times in the past few days already.

“I assure you that my death grip on the armrest is no reflection of my emotional state. I’m fine and you don’t need to mother-hen me.”

“Fine. Let’s chat then. Are you going to quit MI6?”

“Do you want me to? After all you apparently think I’m evil incarnate now.”

Bond shakes his head. “You’re a good Quartermaster. Even if you’re stingy with your tech and get snarky when I go dark and-”

“I get the point. Thanks.”

“And I told you to not appear on my radar again,” Bond finishes.

Oh, so Bond hasn’t completely forgotten. “You also said you’d be back the next day,” Q counters bitterly. He sighs. There’s no need for him to get emotional over the past. “Bond, I know you’re trying to distract me. I don’t need to be distracted. Nothing in the world could distract me from the fact that we’re going to be 30,000 feet above sea level in a flying death trap, similar to, albeit more advanced, the one that killed my mother.”

“Nothing?” Bond raises a perfectly arched eyebrow, blue eyes locking onto Q’s.

“That was a statement, not a challenge.”

“It could be both.” Bond smiles, creeping closer to Q. Q knows where this is going.

It would be fun, distracting. It’s not as if Q has never thought about it. Bond would make him feel on top of the world for a short while, like he does all his targets - because that’s what Q is. A target. Mission objectives: make sure the Quartermaster crosses the ocean without having a nervous breakdown. At least Q hopes that that’s what they’d be, rather than to be lulling him into a false sense of security, then offing him. 

Bond encircles Q’s wrist with two fingers, right over where Alec’s fading rope marks are, and traces small, clockwise circles with his thumb. Q would wonder how shameless the man is, but he already knows the answer to that. “Bond, I don’t need you to comfort me, in any sense of the phrase.” The plane accelerates on the runway and Q’s stomach lurches. He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, focusing on anything but the fact he’s at the point of no return and will be in the air for the next nine hours; he focuses on the warmth of Bond’s calloused hands because it’s the only thing there to focus on.

“I know you don’t,” Bone says acquiescently, his voice low and hypnotic. “But why not take comfort where you can get it? The moment the plane touches down, we can forget it ever happened, if you’re worried about whether or not I’ll still respect you in the morning.”

Q opens his eyes, so that he can glare at his handsy agent. “I’ve no doubt you’re capable of easily forgetting, but not all of us are old and senile.”

“My mandated vacation ended. You look nothing like you used to. You’re practically an entirely different person.”

That’s because he is, courtesy of M. Q turns his head away from Bond, staring at the window cover. To Bond, he had just been a way to burn away the boredom in between missions. Of course. It’s not Bond’s fault that Q had grown attached so quickly, so unreasonably.

“I’m sorry,” Bond apologizes, backing off a little but not loosening his grip. “Do you at least enjoy being Q?”

Q hadn’t realized he’d said anything out loud. Or maybe Bond had just guessed? “I don’t know. It’s safe. At least I’d thought it was safe.” He pauses. “I’m good at it. More than good.”

“It doesn’t suit you, Sleipnir.”

Q whirls on Bond, jerking his hand away, because he’s done a fucking amazing job as Q and Bond has no right to-

“You sit at a desk all day pretending to be a good, boring boffin.” Bond explains, petting Q’s hair as if he’s some animal that needs its ruffled feathers smoothed out. Q wishes he had claws. “Plus, it’s no fun, is it? Dealing with bureaucrats who look at you as if you’re nothing more than the code they assign you. Not to mention-” Bond cuts off, eyes widening. “Jesus bloody Christ.”

Q, confused, follows Bond’s line of sight to his hands. Not his hands. His hands don’t have claws on them they don’t-

Q takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, and opens them again. Still there. He wiggles his fingers experimentally and watches the claws move. They’re his, then. They look a bit like a cat’s.

“It’s okay, Q, Sleipnir. Don’t panic,” Bond says gently.

“I’m not panicking,” Q snipes. “If anything, it sounds like you’re panicking. I’m perfectly calm. And right. Told you so. I’m not Loki.” The plane suddenly jolts, jerking Q forward in his seat. He catches himself by placing his hands on the seat in front of him, accidentally ripping the leather in the process. “Was that me? Tell me that wasn’t me.”

“That was probably just turbulence. No worries.” Bond’s tone is meant to be soothing, but his muscles are tense, which is the opposite of reassuring. The plane lurches..

“We are experiencing some unexpected turbulence,” the plane’s AI announces. Unexpected, as in Q causing it or unexpected because there’s a storm or…? “Please buckle your seatbelts.”

Q slides the window cover up, not caring that he scratches it. The wings of the plane are trembling violently, as if they’re trying to break free.

“There are parachutes. We’re completely safe.”

Q thrusts all ten claws in front of Bond’s eyes. “Does it look like I can put on a parachute? I don’t even know how to use one.” A strong wind - or magic - bats the plane from the left, propelling Q towards Bond. Q has no way of catching himself; he watches in horror as his razor sharp nails make their way towards Bond’s eyes. He curls his fingers into a fist as fast as he can and tries to move his arms away from Bond, but he knows it’s not fast enough. He feels the tearing of flesh, a splash of warm blood on his hands.

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to and I tried to will them away and-”

“It’s fine.” Bond slowly sets Q upright again - his hips had collided with the armrest and he’s half sprawled on top of the agent. “I got my arms up in time. Might need a few stitches, but no permanent damage.” Bond lifts his arms up as proof. “And I’d strap you into the parachute pack and jump with you. You have no reason to be afraid, rationally speaking. Now I’m going to go get the medical kit and stitch myself up. Sit tight, the turbulence will last only another minute or so.”

“Is there any way I can help?”

“Try to lose the claws. Calm down. Sleep.” Or else you might freak out again and who knows what happens. Bond doesn’t say it, but he doesn’t have to.“I’m sure there’s a bedroom on the plane, knowing Stark. I’ll help you there.” Q grimaces. He doesn’t need help walking. “Just in case. Wouldn’t want you tearing up the plane as you wobble around because of the turbulence. Besides, the bedroom is probably attached to the bathroom.”

The walk to the bathroom is mostly uneventful, except for when Q almost walks into a stripper pole. Bond keeps a steadying hand on Q’s hip the whole time even though the turbulence seems to have disappeared. His claws haven’t. He washes Bond’s blood off his hands as Bond gingerly peels off his suit and shirt.

Q tries not to stare. Tony had a giant mirror installed in the washroom. Q focuses on the wounds that he inflicted. “Do you want a drink?” Q offers.

“I’m fine. Go sleep. Growing children are supposed to get at least eight hours.”

Q would roll his eyes and protest, but that’d be childish and prove Bond right.

The bed is pretty modest, which should be surprising, but actually isn’t given the influence Rogers has been on Tony. Which kind of makes Q wonder about the stripper poles. He makes a mental note to think about that at a different time. The bedroom is comfortable, the bed even more so; however, he still doesn’t think he’ll be able to sleep. 

“Any ideas why you suddenly grew claws?” Bond asks as he strolls into the room a few minutes later, all patched up. Shirtless. The agent starts rummaging through the closet, which affords Q a brilliant view of his backside. He’s almost starting to regret turning down Bond’s earlier offer. Bond pulls on a shirt that’s obscenely tight as he patiently waits for an answer.

“Er. I wanted to claw you,” Q sheepishly admits after Bond has stared at him for a good two minutes.

“Mission accomplished,” he congratulates wryly.

“Not like actually claw you, but, kind of. Not like this though,” Q mumbles guiltily.

“Bloodthirsty little boffin. We should stick you in the field. Any idea on how to make them go away?”

“Happy thoughts?” Q jokes. 

“I can help with that,” Bond offers, but there’s no real heat behind it. “I hope you don’t toss and turn, or Stark can kiss that bed goodbye.” The Double-O settles onto the sofa that’s a few feet away. 

“You could always volunteer as tribute,” Q half jokes. “You’re already halfway there.”

“Or we could handcuff you to the bed.”

Q snorts. “You forget, you taught me how to break out of handcuffs yourself and I’ve perfected the art since.”

“I recall just the other day you telling me about Alec helping you learn how to break out of handcuffs and the likes. If there are rope marks on your wrist, your art needs some tweaking.”

“Belongs right next to the painting of the grand old warship,” Q sasses back. He refuses to be embarrassed. Not when he knows much more - and worse - about Bond. He hopes the agent is up for bantering then next...eight hours and twelve minutes because Q isn’t feeling anything near sleepy. More like on-edge, guilty, and confused. 

The plane jostles a little. 

Then some more. Q grasps the sheets, and promptly hears the sound of of cloth tearing. Right. Not like he liked these sheets anyways. His blankets at home are infinitely better. Hopefully Tony won't be too upset. Q wants his claws to go away. He wants something to cuddle so he can sleep and then wake up after this hellish flight is finally over. He wants the flight to be over.

“How do you feel about sedatives?” Bond asks, staring at the mess. “I’d still get you out in the unlikely chance something happened. They might even make your claws go away.”

“How do you feel about Medical?” Normally Q doesn’t have anything against drugs, but he’s in a plane. Over the ocean. No thank you, narcotics. He’d like to be able to wake up in case something does happens, even if he does trust Bond for the most part. 

“I get your point, no need to freeze me to death.”

Q blinks. Bond is right; it’s at least ten degrees colder than it was a minute ago. He almost panics, thinking that the plane is malfunctioning, when he realizes what happened. “There’s a thermostat behind you,” Q points out. Somehow, he doubts that it’ll help.

The temperature continues to drop even as Bond raises the thermostat. “I don’t think I like your magic,” Bond comments. “So, we have two options here…”

Q rolls his eyes even as he starts to shiver. “Just get over here. I swear if this is some elaborate ploy to get me in bed with you, I’ll start breathing fire or something,” he threatens, though he knows it’s his fault, not Bond’s. He’s terrified to think what might happen if they don’t cuddle. Of all the things he wants, his magic or whatever decides to ‘grant’ this one.

“At this rate, it’d be welcome.” Bond slides under the covers next to Q, effortlessly rearranging him until Bond is spooning him. Q rests his head on his agent’s bicep and hugs the arm that’s draped over his chest. 

“Don’t want to poke any more holes in you on accident,” Q explains.

“Just sleep,” Bond grumbles.

Q wiggles closer to his grumpy agent - purely because it's cold - and thinks that one for three isn't too bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Send me comments? :) I love talking fandom and I always get inspiration from people's comments :D.


	22. If You Think It's An Emergency

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the almost-a-year-wait. Read All About It is finished, so Thief should be updating somewhat (monthly?) regularly now :). Much thanks if you're still hanging in there and reading! And even more thanks to my beta TriumphantDisaster who betas about 1000x faster than I write.

Bond slings the little, pointy-fingered boffin over his shoulder with a sigh, clipping the man’s glasses to his own shirt. He considers lying to Q once he wakes up, telling him that he must’ve been so drained from the magic, or whatever it was, that he didn’t wake up when the plane landed, but Q has had enough confusion for a lifetime without Bond gaslighting him. James can deal with Q being mad at him. It wouldn’t be the first time. It won’t be the last.

It shouldn’t surprise him, in light of recent events, that Q’s desires manifest themselves in such simply whimsical and childish ways. His magic is unrefined and inelegant, inefficient. It’s the polar opposite of every piece of equipment the Quartermaster has ever put in the hands of an agent. It’s dangerously unpredictable, the way a gun not coded to one’s biometrics is. Take into account that Q is currently terrified and emotionally unstable and it’s a giant mess that Bond would rather avoid, even if he doubts that Q is somehow Loki.

He’s just relieved that it hadn’t been worse. The cold had apparently been an illusion; after injecting Q with enough tranquilizer to knock out an elephant - Bond wasn’t taking any chances on dosage - Bond had left the room. The instant he had, he had felt normal, as if he’d never been cold at all. He had checked his theory, placing a cup of ice in the room for a few minutes and keeping another outside. The ice had melted in both, at about the same speed.

As for the turbulence, Bond isn’t sure whether or not that was Q. What he is guessing though, is that this isn’t the first time Q’s magic has reared its head. It probably contributed to the fact that Q survived a plane crash that 362 other people didn’t. Even beyond that, Bond has a sneaking suspicion that Q has purposely used it before, even if he doesn’t know it. There’s no other explanation for the boffin’s sleight of hand. James has encountered a lot of unsavory characters in his line of work, but he’s yet to encounter anyone with faster or lighter fingers than Q, or rather, Sleipnir. 

The small child whose face had been half hidden by grimy locks of hair and had pinched Bond’s wallet so long ago couldn’t be any more dissimilar to Bond’s prim Quartermaster who dresses like a grandfather. But if he squints, he can see the overlap, where the layers of Q’s now and then don’t quite mesh. 

It makes sense now, why Q is always so personally offended by the, admittedly somewhat careless and wanton, destruction of his tech. 

Bond traces a wicked claw, testing the edges of it, as he carries Q off the plane. He wonders how far Q has come since his lessons, how destructive and dangerous his once protégé is with only his wits as a weapon. How many men has he charmed to their downfalls with the sweet lies James taught him to weave?

James’ appetite, monstrous and bloody, drawn to wreckage like a starving mutt to food, hungers just thinking about it. He needs to see it. Maybe Q will show him. The thief lurking under that far-to-proper skin.

Would Q ever turn it against him again? Reveal himself to be another Vesper?

Maybe once he’s more himself again - more the Quartermaster of MI6 - not afraid and shaking like a leaf.

James morosely releases the claw, setting Q down gently in the backseat and covering him. The windows are tinted, but better safe than sorry. The car, Stark’s, is flashy, just shy of ostentatious, and fast. Unfortunately, it won’t allow James to drive it, the Jarvis that Tony had told James about controlling it. It takes them to an underground garage under Stark Tower. 

Unsurprisingly, Steve Rogers is already there, surrounded by a field of cars and the odd motorcycle. He regards James with suspicion, frowning when James opens the back door to reveal a still unconscious Q. Rogers’ eyes dart to the boffin immediately.

“It’s illegal to not wear a seatbelt. Not very safe either.”

“Should I be concerned about Jarvis’ driving abilities and Stark’s programming abilities?” James retorts.

The Boy Scout doesn’t take the bait. “You drugged him.”

James lifts Q off the seat, making sure that Steve gets a clear view of the boffin’s hands. It’s not hard to do, considering the American hasn’t looked away from the man for a single second. “He doesn’t like flying. Now, if we could get situated?”

The soldier nods, and leads them past rows and rows of cars to a lift. There are buttons, but they start rising without Rogers pressing one. James doesn’t like it one bit. 

“Stark didn’t mention those,” Rogers comments, indicating Q’s hands with a slight nod. “He’s not human for sure then?” 

“They’re a recent addition and we’re not sure. The drug should be out of his system in twelve hours or so. Given that we’ve no idea what how quickly his body metabolizes such things, it’s better to err on the side of later and wait at least a day before collecting any blood samples or conducting any brain scans. DNA should be fine though. ”

Steve nods. “I’ll bring something up to collect samples. You’ll have a fully stocked kitchen and Q’s bedroom has an adjoining bedroom, so you can stay with him.”

The lift comes to a stop and Rogers leads James into what looks like a flat covering the whole floor. “Elevator access?” James asks.

“Jarvis will send you the specs for everything for you to look over. He’ll always ask before letting anyone up. Same goes for the door to the stairwell. If you want, even Tony and I can’t get in, barring an emergency. Anyways, I’ll leave you to get situated. Let Jarvis know when you’re ready for me to bring the DNA kit up.” Steve walks back into the lift, gaze lingering on Q until the doors close.

In essence, this place is a security nightmare unless he trusts a computer with his life. He doesn’t. Unfortunately, it’s still their best option. James sets Q down in the room that he assumes is Q’s by its decor, tucking the boffin in and placing his glasses on the nightstand, then sets about sweeping the place for bugs.

He finds none, at least none that aren’t on the floating schematics that appear in front of him when he starts poking at the first camera he finds embedded in a wall. He assumes that Steve and Stark would be none too happy with him if he destroyed their walls to remove the cameras and since they’re currently relying on the goodwill of the two Americans, he searches for something to cover them with instead.

“If I may, the cameras are for security purposes only. No one will see the footage unless there’s an emergency. There are post it notes in the kitchen if you really must, but Q would be safer if you left them as is,” a British voice intones. From where, James can’t tell. “I cannot monitor his vitals if you cut off all inputs.”

“If there’s an emergency I’m going to assume you’re already compromised and I can monitor him myself.”

“As you wish, then. Once you’re done should I alert the Captain that you’re ready for him to come up?”

“That would be fine,” Bond lies, returning to Q’s room. In both a professional and personal capacity, he doesn’t like the way Steve looks at Q. He recalls Stark saying that he wanted Q to be a part of his and Steve’s lives, the way the soldier had blushed. But despite that, despite the warm paintings in Q’s room that are unmistakably Steve’s decoration choices, the soldier’s eyes had been as hard as they’d been blue. 

James sits and stares at Q’s bony, blanket-swaddled form, and sincerely hopes there’s a monster lurking underneath.


	23. Watch

Q definitively knows three facts without even opening his eyes as he wakes. One: he’s no longer on the plane. Two: someone is watching him. Three: his head is not pleased with him. One plus two and three adds up to six, but the equation really solves for 007. Bond drugged him. 

He pushes himself off the bed, only to feel his hands sink deeper than they should, even given the softness of the mattress. He kicks the covers off and blearily blinks down at his hands. His vision isn’t great without his glasses, but it seems as though he does actually have claws and that it wasn’t just a drug induced nightmare. It wouldn’t be the strangest he’s had. “Bond, I’m going to kill you,” Q rasps out.

“Well, at least I’ll know you meant to. You’re a terrible flier,” the agent quips, sounding far too cheerful. The agent presses a glass of water into Q’s hands, as if it will redeem him.

Q wonders, if he had his glasses on, what he would see on Bond’s face. He’s not sure he wants to know. Just in case, Q doesn’t look up as cups the glass with the base of his palms and downs it. “I can't believe you drugged me while I was sleeping.” 

That’s a lie. He can believe it. Quite easily. He just didn’t want to.

He's going to puke. No, he’s not. Not in front of Bond. His stomach is empty save for water. He has only his disgust to gag on. 

“You know Alec would have done the same thing.”

“No he wouldn’t. He would have-”

_good boy, no need to be scared, yeah? I have you here you’re safe -_

_You were never mine._

Oh. Q doesn’t know anymore, what Alec would have done. He sets the cup down on the nightstand, stares at the monstrosities that are his hands.

“Your magic, or whatever it is, was out of control.”

“I was asleep.” He’d trusted James that much at least.

“Look, I know you’re not happy about it, but trust that I at least have your continued survival as my top priority.”

The claws, for all that they’re a bit feline, obviously aren’t made to retract. Q isn’t sure if that’s something he should be grateful for. If they could retract, would he have cut himself apart when he retracted them or would the magic have accounted for that? 

“Q, are you listening? Look at me.”

Q doesn’t want to listen to James in the slightest. Had he really told Tony just a day ago that he trusted James with his life? Is this how agents feel when they ignore him screaming in their ear? Then again, it’s not really comparable. Q hasn’t ever drugged any of them without their consent. (Not that they’re reluctant in the slightest to give it, for much anything.) It’s not like Q has ever left one waiting around for him in an alley for a week, leaving them to wonder if he was dead, either.

Though, what he did to Tony does come close.

“Q.” 

A calloused index finger and thumb grab his chin and jerk him so he’s forced to look Bond in the eyes. At this distance, Bond’s features are crystal clear despite Q’s terrible vision.

“Let go of me,” Q orders, wrapping his fingers, razor-sharp claws and all, around Bond’s wrist. Bond doesn’t blink, not even when Q squeezes enough to draw a few drops of blood. Q lets go. “I heard you. You’ll keep me alive.”

“You’re acting like a child.”

“There are drugs to make people more complacent. I could recommend a few if you like. I’m sure you know them all, but I’ve a few favorites.”

Bond releases him as if he’s been burned, face softening into something that’s a mix of guilt and pity. Q wants to metaphorically tear if off. “Q, did anyone ever…”

“Take advantage of me?” The corners of Q’s lips quirk up. “You tell me.” He swipes his glasses back and hops off the bed, heading to the bathroom. The smell of airplane, fake oxygen, sticks to him, and despite the water, his mouth tastes like ashes. He needs toothpaste, a shower, and privacy, in no certain order.

The door locks behind him of its own accord. “Thank you Jarvis. How long was I out?” 

“You and Mr. Bond have been in Stark Tower for eight hours and twenty-one minutes,” Jarvis replies. Q blinks in surprise. He’d never imagined Jarvis would have a British accent. Sure, the name was British, but Q had always assumed that had just come in coincidence with the acronym Just A Really Very Intelligent System. 

“What did I miss?”

“While you were sleeping, or the past two years?” Jarvis asks, polite and cutting all at once. Q winces.

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes sincerely, although he’s not sure what part of the whole mess he’s apologizing for. “Both? What happened while I was sleeping first though.”

Jarvis acquiesces, holograms of videos popping up all around Q. Q has seen holographic tech in videos, but it’s completely different to experience it in person. They give off a soft light, and the resolution is clearer than anything he’s ever seen in his life. He reaches out to touch one, and his hand breaks the image. Not solid. Right.

The holograms follow him into the shower, sticking to the walls where they won’t be disturbed by the water. The shower, too, is nothing like he’s ever seen in real life. The whole tower, really. He feels out of place, surrounded by all this extravagance. Ten years ago he would’ve wanted to rob this place blind. Which, he could probably pull off now if he wanted to given that James covered all the cameras on this floor. Except…

“Jarvis, how’re you making the holograms follow me if you can’t see where I am?”

“The microphones are still working and I can triangulate your location based on sound.”

Q blinks. That’s slightly unnerving, although not as unnerving as watching the video of Bond just staring at him. For the first minute, Q is sure that the video is malfunctioning. There’s an unnatural stillness to Bond, not unlike the stillness that Q had seen in Bond during a mission a year and some odd days ago in India, when Bond had waited for two days in a bush atop a mountain with a sniper rifle.

And while Bond isn’t looking at Q like he’s about shoot him, he is staring at Q with the same amount of intensity he would a target. 

“I thought he covered up all the cameras,” Q comments, pausing from trying to figure out James’ expression, trying to piece together where the camera must be placed.

“I may have not mentioned this one. It is particularly well hidden.”

“Bond would have found it anyway.” Using Q’s tech, of course. Unless...the camera isn’t in this building, but an adjacent one. Q doesn’t know what floor this is, as the blinds to the room are closed, but he’s guessing it’s just shy of being too high for a neighboring building to see in. There must be a small gap in the blinds.

Somehow, Q doubts that all the rooms are similarly constructed.

Q swipes the video feeds away. He supposes it’s too much to hope that it was Rogers’ doing and not Tony’s. Or, better yet, for his own protection.

He grabs a towel and trudges out of the bathroom back to the devil that he knows.


	24. Audacity

Q’s first reaction is to do an about-face, walk right back into the bathroom, and shut the door behind him, but Captain America, aka Commander Steve Rogers, looks up from where he’s sitting on the bed and locks eyes with him before Q can even turn around. Not that Rogers’ eyes stay on Q’s for long. No, they sweep down the length of Q’s body. Q has to resist the urge to tighten the towel around his waist. Knowing his luck, he’d probably accidently shred it with his claws. Besides, he isn’t body shy, has nothing to be shy about despite the faded scars that betray his childhood. Still, Q can’t help but feel inadequate as he’s examined by a man who might as well have been photoshopped into being.

Rogers’ gentle smile does nothing to make Q feel better. Neither does the fact that the examination lasts only all of a second before the soldier politely looks away. Q has no doubts that Rogers got all he needed in that second.

James walks in front of Q, blocking Roger’s line of sight a little too late, and hands Q a change of clothes. “Sorry, I didn’t recall that you didn’t have a spare set of clothes until too late.”

Q hadn’t. He hugs the clothes to his chest, where a tiny seed of skepticism has made itself at home. James would’ve been the last to forget something like that. Most likely, Rogers had arrived just a minute ago, interrupting Q’s plans.

James smiles, not gentle, but hinting towards something predatory, confirming Q’s theory. James is lying, but not to deceive Q. Q nods and James’ face slips back into his normal blank, unreadable expression.

Q takes his time, changing in the bathroom and mulling over what it might mean, that Rogers had waited in the bedroom rather than somewhere else. Did he want to see Q vulnerable? Had he purposely timed his appearance, with the help of Jarvis perhaps?

Q can’t hear any conversation through the door, but then again he hadn’t heard Rogers enter either. The bathroom could be soundproofed for all he knows.

“Jarvis, could you show me the blueprints and specs of this floor?” Q asks. Immediately, they spring up in front of him. Noticeably, there’s nothing in them about the gap that must exist in the curtains or the fact that there is another camera trained on the bedroom. There’s nothing to indicate soundproofing anywhere on this floor either. Q takes the information with a grain of salt then rejoins the two soldiers waiting on him.

“Sorry, I hadn’t realized that…” Rogers apologized only to trail off, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. "I'm Steve, nice to meet you. I'd shake your hand, but..."

“It’s fine,” Q says despite his disbelief, for lack of any other appropriate responses. "David in public, but otherwise Q."

“I’d also like to apologize for something else,” Rogers continues. “We took your DNA while you were still asleep because we want to figure this out ASAP. We figured you’d be fine with it, but still.”

Q shrugs. It’s not the worst thing that could have happened, and it’s not nearly as bad as the fact that he’d been drugged in the first place, seeing as he was going to test his DNA anyways. “What did you find?”

“You’re human,” Rogers says, staring at Q’s hands with more than a little consternation.

Relief flows through him for all of a minute before doubt dams it. He can’t be sure that Rogers isn’t lying, can’t be sure of anything that the supersoldier does. Q wishes that he could read minds. He’s good at reading expressions, telling lies from truths - one learns fast when their life depends on it - but occasionally people, like James, can still be hard to read. Rogers has been playing the game even longer than James and the super soldier serum means he has perfect muscle control. With that - if Rogers is careful and calculating enough - comes absolute control over the microexpressions that would give those with even the most perfected poker faces away. Q has no doubt that Rogers is both those things.

“Are you sure you ran the tests correctly?” James questions.

“I ran them twice to be sure. Jarvis was watching every step to make sure I did everything right.”

It seems that magic, and magic Q will call it, seeing as he is supposedly human, does not run through DNA. “As I’m human, I don’t suppose that running my DNA against Thor’s bore any fruit?”

Rogers shakes his head, confirming that Q is indeed not Loki. “We’re completely in the dark. Do you want to do more tests now or later? I imagine you’re curious about Tony’s workshop, not to mention hungry.”

None of those options sound good. More than any of those, he wants to be back in his bed in his flat in London, buried under blankets, feeling safe, with Iron Man chittering at him and Alec on speed dial. Q is still nauseous enough - from James’ betrayal, from the drug he was injected with, or the possibility that Rogers has alternative motives, one of them, all of them, Q isn’t sure - that even the thought of food is revolting, though his stomach disagrees with his mind. He’s curious about Tony’s workshop, of course he is, but going down there would mean more tests sooner rather than later.

What is there left to test? They know he’s human. They know he’s not Loki. Isn’t that enough? What more could Rogers possibly be hoping to find?

Rogers smiles, eyebrows furrowed a little bit, as if he’s puzzled by Q’s lack of response.

Q can hardly think over the noise of second guesses bouncing around in his head. How do agents ever muddle through this mess of unsurety? Q takes a deep breath. Might as well do the tests now; maybe they’ll give him a clue as to what Rogers wants.

“I think it’s best if Q rest a little longer. There’s no urgency to run other tests on him since we know he’s human. The most important thing right now is finding out what SHIELD wants with him and Q isn’t necessary for that,” James says before Q can voice his decision.

“Q?” Rogers asks.

Q nods in agreement, letting James make the choice for him. Loathe as Q is to admit it, he might have to let Bond take the lead. Bond has more experience navigating these sorts of situations than Q does. Where Bond might hesitate when confronted with anything requiring technological skills greater than those of a teenager, Q doesn’t even know where to start when he’s in a maze of subterfuge.

Q has never been sent into the field -  meeting 007 in the museum the closest he has ever gotten - MI6 deciding his skills lay elsewhere. He probably would have been passable, if he knew how to fight. Bond had taught him how to charm his way out of them, but had vanished before teaching Q Plan B. Then again, maybe Q wouldn’t have been passable at all. The streets are a completely different game from the field. Q’s childhood must look like exactly like that, child’s play, to Bond.

“Okay. Maybe you guys can come down for breakfast tomorrow, or I could come up. Just let Jarvis know what you want to do. Maybe then we can avoid another,” Rogers pauses, a slight blush on his face, “incident.”

After Rogers is out of the room, Q and James silently turn towards each other, eyebrows raised. Captain Rogers blushing...was extremely odd. Q narrows his eyes at Bond. “I’m still pissed at you,” he makes clear. “Just because I want to rest does not mean I’m agreeing with you.”

“I’m sure,” James says, sounding entirely unconcerned. “But you trust Rogers even less than you trust me.”

Q doesn’t nod, but he’s sure his opinion shows on his face because James continues, “I don’t think you’re human despite what Rogers says. Not because of the magic or the claws, but you woke up easily 8 hours faster than you should have.”

“I was quite a recreational youth, as you well know,” Q replies as calmly as he can. 

“Even if you’ve built up immunity, that is preternaturally fast. Double-Os are _trained_ to be resistant against sedatives, but even the quickest of us would take another 4 hours to wake up. I gave you the highest non-lethal dosage possible.” 

“Maybe it was the magic,” Q tries. “And it’s not unheard of for some humans to have special abilities. Just look at Rogers.”

“Everything special about him came via human experimentation.”

They both fall silent, mulling over that for a bit. “Do you think -”

“We’ll find out,” James assures. “In the meantime, rest and try to figure out what you can do. Maybe your magic could be a good thing.”

“I don’t think so.” He would give it away in a second if it meant going back to the way things were. So far, not a single good thing has come from it. It’s just another target on his back. Might be the only target on his back, the way MI6 found him. It would make sense. He’d never found out how anyone had figured out who he was, let alone where he had lived. He’d been completely untraceable.

“You have it, whatever it is and whether you like it or not. You might as well make the most of it.”

“Very inspirational, Bond. You might just have a career in motivational speaking if this goes pear-shaped.”

“Don’t forget to put your back into it.”

Despite himself, Q smiles.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [A Thief Amidst MI6 Banner](https://archiveofourown.org/works/886039) by [TouchoftheWind](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TouchoftheWind/pseuds/TouchoftheWind)




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